noes  mbx:    ,-  >:•...,.- 


8E'     3E  Fj     '     : :      \  FER  POOL 


V. 


LIBRRRY 

OF  THE 

University  of  North   (Carolina. 

Endowed  by  the  Dialectic  and  Philan- 
thropic Societies. 


•^\^;p^<a,ui 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N  C  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00016896904 


This  book  may  be  kept  out  one  month  unless  a  recall 
notice  is  sent  to  you.  It  must  be  brought  to  the  North 
Carolina  Collection  (in  Wilson  Library)  for  renewal. 


Form  No.  A-369 


Into  t  Uraztlitmt  &k\t& 


BY 


BETTIE   FRESHWATER  POOL 


AUTHOR  OF 


Sty?  Sgro  mb  (§ttyv  §>tmtlim\  $faraB. 


1908 

i 


GEO.  P.  E.  HART 

PUBLISHER 

Elizabeth  City,  N.  C. 


Copyright  1908. 

BY 

Bettie  Freshwater  Pool. 


All  rights  reserved. 


TO  THE 
MEMORY  OF  MY  BROTHER 

The  late  Judge  Charles  C.  Pool 
this  BOOK  IS 
Most  Lovingly  Dedicated 

BY 

The  Author. 


(EfltttetttH: 

I.— Under  Brazillian  Skies 1—42. 

II.— The  Hermit  of  South  Mountains 44-47. 

III.— Foreshadowed 49—54- 

IV. -The  Old  Brick  House 56—59. 


Enter  IBrajHltan  Bkxts 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  bay  of  Rio  Janeiro  is  a  marvel  of  picturesque  beauty.  It 
has  a  coast  line  of  a  hundred  and  five  miles,  and  is  one  of  the 
finest  harbors  in  the  world.  Islands  of  various  size  dot  the  water; 
many  of  them  hills  of  volcanic  origin,  rising-  abruptly  out  of  the 
waves,  their  sides  covered  with  tropical  verdure,  and  their  sum- 
mits adorned  by  cozy  cottages.  Westward  the  shores  of  the  bay 
rise  first  into  hills,  then  into  mountains;  the  Corcovada  and  the  Gavea 
towering  like  giants  above  their  neighbors.  From  the  belfry  of 
Gloria  Cathedral  one  may  behold  a  magnificent  view  of  the  city 
and  bay.  A  stone  wall  five  miles  long  and  fifteen  feet  high  pro- 
tects the  lower  part  of  the  city  from  the  breakers.  On  some  of 
the  mountain-tops  are  built  summer  houses  and  hotels,  which  are 
the  resort  of  the  wealthy  during  the  hot  season  or  when  an  epidemic 
prevails.  Twenty  miles  distant  tower  the  Organ  mountains.  On 
these  heights  stands  Petropolis,  where  the  foreign  diplomats  have 
their  headquarters,  and  where  is  located  the  magnificent  summer 
palace  of  the  ex-emperor. 

At  eight  o'clock  of  a  sultry  evening  in  the  June  of  1890,  two 
men  stood  on  the  shore  of  this  beautiful  bay,  watching  the  lights 
flash  from  hundreds  of  ships.  The  bay  seemed  encircled  by  count- 
less stars.  The  faces  of  these  two  men  bore  the  unmistakable 
stamp  of  their  Hebrew  origin.  The  younger,  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  was  tall,  athletic  and  finely  proportioned.  His  jet  black  hair 
was  streaked  with  gray.  His  face  was  clean  shaven,  and  his 
features  large  and  well  cut.  His  large,  dark  eyes  glowed  with  in- 
tense brightness  beneath  heavy,  black  brows.  He  supported  with 
patient  solicitude  an  infirm  old  man,  who  leaned  upon  his  arm,  and 
gazed  with  an  absent,  melancholy  expression  at  the  twinkling 
lights  in  the  harbor. 

At  last  the  aged  Jew  turned  with  an  air  of  impatience,  and 

(1) 


2  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

said  in  a  feeble  voice: '  'Ezra,  this  scene  wearies  me.     Let  us  return. " 

They  walked  slowly  on  for  a  few  paces,  when  the  old  man 
stopped,  leaned  heavily  on  the  arm  of  the  younger,  and  gasped  for 
breath.     The  paroxysm  soon  passed,  and  he  said,  fretfully: 

"Walk  more  slowly,  my  son.  This  cursed  climate  deprives  me 
of  all  my  strength,  strength  that  I  cannot  afford  to  lose.  We  shall 
need  it,  Ezra!    We  shall  need  it!" 

"God  grant  that  it  may  not  fail  us,  father,  until  our  hopes 
are  crowned  by  fruition.  The  night  has  been  dark,  but  let  us 
trust  the  dawn  is  not  far  distant." 

When  they  had  walked  on  for  some  distance,  and  had  entered 
the  old  part  of  the  city,  a  figure  enveloped  in  a  cloak  approached 
and  addressed  the  aged  Israelite  in  a  low  tone.  The  latter  start- 
ed, and  uttered  a  smothered  exclamation  of  surprise.  The  cloaked 
figure,    evidently  a  woman,  walked  on  beside  them  in  silence. 

"Zarowski,"  called  a  voice  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
"wait  a  moment,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you." 

A  tall  Jew  emerged  from  the  shadow  of  a  portico,  and  joined 
the  group  who  awaited  his  approach. 

The  figure  in  the  cloak  gave  a  perceptible  start  at  the  appear- 
ance of  this  man,  and  walked  on  some  distance  ahead,  while  the 
three  men  conversed.  At  last  the  old  man  raised  his  voice  and 
said  earnestly:  "I  tell  you  she  will  never  consent,  never!  Though 
the  Siberian  snows  lie  mountain  deep  over  him.  But  what  proof 
have  you  that  he  is  dead? 

"The  best  of  proofs,  Zrrowski,  a  letter  just  received  from 
Russia,  in  which  is  the  statement  that  recently  a  hundred  Siberi- 
an exiles  perished  during  the  long  march  over  frozen  ground  when 
the  prisoners  were  conveyed  from  Tomsk  to  Irkutsk.  Among  the 
convicts  were  fifteen  Jews,  the  remnant  of  those  banished  for 
political  offenses  in  January,  1889.  Only  two  women  survived  of 
our  race  out  of  the  entire  band.  My  friend  was  unable  to  ascer- 
tain who  these  were.     Ezra,  perhaps  one  of  them—" 

"Perhaps, "  interrupted  the  athlete,  with  a  bitter  smile.  '  'But 
as  there  is  no  way  of  ascertaining,  we  will  not  discuss  the  matter. 
Father,  these  dews  are  not  good  for  you.  You  should  not  risk  this 
exposure.     If  the  fever  should  attack  you—" 

"True,  my  son,  true!  Let  us  go.  Adieu,  Beriah.  We  will 
talk  of  this  another  time.     'Tis  sad  news  you  bring!    Poor  Miriam! 

The  father  and  son  walked  on  for  a  while  without  speaking, 
then  the  old  man  said:     "Shall  we  tell  her,  Ezra?" 

"Not  until  there  is  proof  that  this  report  is  true,"  replied  the 
son.  "Nevertheless,  this  news  may  be  a  source  of  relief.  Better— 
a  thousand  times  better— death,  than  a  life-long  exile  in  that  fear- 
ful country! 

"Blessed  Abraham!"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  It  is  enough  to 
make  me  wish  I  slumbered  with  my  fathers,  where  no  knowledge 
of  tyranny  and  suffering  could  ever  reach  me. " 


Under  Brazillian  Skies.  3 

They  now  stopped  before  a  rude  stone  dwelling  in  rather 
dilapidated  condition,  whose  heavy  floor  of  pannelled  mahogany 
closed  softly  when  they  had  entered.  And  the  shadows  of  night 
began  to  fall. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  house  occupied  by  Alvin  Holt,  a  cinchona  merchant  from 
New  York,  was  pleasantly  located  near  the  Passeo  Publico,  the 
oldest  park  in  Rio  Janeiro. 

All  the  houses  in  this  part  of  the  city  are  built  of  stone  or 
stuccoed  brick,  and  every  yard  is  ornamented  by  a  flower  garden 
bright  with  tropical  plants.  The  dwellings  and  gardens  are  en- 
closed by  stone  fences  several  feet  high,  surmounted  by  light  iron 
railings. 

The  house  occupied  by  the  merchant  and  his  family  did  not 
materially  differ  from  its  neighbors.  It  was  a  two-story  stone 
structure  with  veranda  in  front,  where  clustering  vines  and  flower- 
ing plants  filled  the  air  with  delicious  fragrance. 

In  this  cool  retreat,  on  a  sultry  afternoon,  sat  two  women. 
Dorothy  Holt,  the  elder  of  the  two,  was  now  in  the  full  bloom  of 
young  womanhood,  and  her  dark,  rich  beauty  was  thrown  into  re- 
lief by  the  flaxen  hair,  sky  blue  eyes  and  fair  complexion  of  her 
cousin,  Li  Hie  Sessford,  who  at  this  moment  was  engaged  in  twist- 
ing some  vines  into  more  artistic  convolutions  over  the  trellis  work 
of  the  veranda. 

The  younger  girl  was  scarcely  seventeen,  slender  and  grace- 
ful. She  was  so  much  occupied  with  the  vine  that  she  did  not 
notice  the  approach  of  a  man  until  he  addressed  her: 

"  'Sweet  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden  of  girls,  Queen  lily  and 
rose  in  one, '  May  I  come  in?  This  cool  retreat  looks  very  inviting 
after  an  hour's  walk  in  the  scorching  sun." 

When  the  speaker  had  entered  the  veranda  and  seated  himself 
in  a  rustic  chair  between  the  women,  he  turned  with  a  smile  to 
Lillie  Sessford,  who  was  saying: 

"Mr.  Littlefield,  by  what  lucky  chance  do  we  meet  you  in  this 
country?    Did  you  drop  from  the  clouds?" 

"Not  exactly.  I  am  travelling  with  Felix  Dayne,  an  old 
friend  of  yours,  I  believe,  and  also  an  acquaintance  and  admirer  of 
Miss  Holt's.  Dayne  is  delighted,  charmed,  with  everything  here. 
He  did  not  even  tire  of  a  sea  voyage  of  four  weeks'  duration, 
with  nothing  to  break  the  monotony  but  an  occasional  pull  up  at 
a  prosy  island,  inhabited  by  black  savages,  who  assail  one  with  out- 
landish gibberish  as  unintelligible  as  the  chatter  of  crows  and 
magpies. ' ' 


]+  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

"For  shame,  Mr.  Littlefield!"  exclaimed  Lillie.  "Mr.  Dayne 
is  quite  right.  For  some  of  those  islands  are  simply  delightful.  I 
was  charmed  with  Barbados  and  Martinique,  and  could  have  spent 
whole  weeks  in  either  place.  The  shop  windows,  full  of  all  sorts  of 
curios,  quite  captivated  me.  I  emptied  my  purse  absolutely,  and 
secured  enough  treasures  to  start  a  museum.  Do  come  inside,  and 
take  a  peep  at  my  valuable  possessions." 

She  ushered  him  into  a  room  airy  and  cool,  and  destitute  of 
carpet.  The  furniture  consisted  chiefly  of  small  marble-top  tables 
and  handsome  rugs.  These  tables  were  literally  loaded  with  all 
sorts  of  bric-a-brac,  treasures  from  sea  and  shore;  stuffed  birds  of 
rare  and  gorgeous  plumage,  butterflies  as  exquisite  as  flowers, 
beautiful  black  and  red  Brazillian  beans,  ornaments  made  of  the 
tiniest  seeds,  fans  made  of  the  bright  feathers  of  tropical  birds, 
and  some  as  exquisite  as  wax,  made  from  the  delicate  fibre  of  the 
Spanish  bayonet. 

Fastening  some  of  the  butterflies  in  her  hair,  Lillie  Sessford 
declared  herself  the  queen  of  all  the  fairies.  She  looked  so  be- 
witching in  her  pink  and  white  loveliness,  her  piquancy  and  her 
youth,  that  Cyrus  Littlefield,  blase  man  of  the  world  though  he 
was,  felt  his  pulses  thrill  with  delight,  as  he  watched  her. 

"Dayne  is  making  a  sketch  of  Sugarloaf  Mountain  this  after- 
noon.    He  ought  to  be  here  to  paint  you." 

"I  never  wear  artificial  roses,  thank  you;  mine  are  real;"  and 
she  touched  her  cheeks  with  coquettish  grace.  "Mr.  Dayne  has  the 
execrable  taste  to  admire  Dorothy  more  than  he  does  me.  When 
she  is  by,  he  has  no  eyes  for  any  other  woman. ' ' 

"What  a  woe-be-gone  expression!    Are  you  jealous?" 

'  Tearfully  so.     Mr.  Dayne  is  my  beau  ideal. ' ' 

"I  will  inform  him  of  your  good  opinion.     Shall  I?" 

"Of  course  not.     Let  him  make  the  discovery  himself." 

"And  Miss  Holt?" 

"She  does' nt  care  a  snap  for  him.  But  tell  me,  is  he  really 
in  love  with  her?" 

"Desperately!  There  is  not  the  slightest  chance  for  any  de- 
signing charmer  to  win  his  heart.  Absolutely  none.  So  break 
your  heart  and  die;  or  else  send  Miss  Holt  to  Siberia  or  the  North 
Pole." 

'  'Heartless  man. "  She  leaned  languidly  back  in  her  chair,  with 
a  rippling  laugh,  and  toyed  with  her  fan  of  snow  white  feathers. 

"And  you  really  like  Dayne?" 

"  Immensely!" 

"This  is  confidential,  I  suppose." 

"Certainly." 

"And  you  have  kept  his  image  in  your  heart  for  a  whole 
year?    What  a  marvel  of  constancy!" 

"Yes,  some  women  can  love  a  year  and  a  day;  not  so,  men. 
Hush!  here  comes  Dorothy." 


Under  Brazillian  Skies 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Mr.  Littlefield,"  said  Dorothy,  "you  have  not  yet  told  us  how 
you  are  pleased  with  this  part  of  the  world." 

"We  arrived  here  just  a  week  ago.  Everything  is  so  strange 
that  I  suppose  I  shall  be  interested  as  long  as  the  novelty  lasts. 
The  Brazilians  are  so  provokingly  deliberate  and  so  tiresomely 
polite  that  if  I  did  not  possess  the  patience  of  Job  I  could  not  sub- 
mit to  wait  two  hours  when  I  order  a  cup  of  coffee,  or  smile  when 
a  native  shakes  my  hand  for  the  tenth  time  in  six  hours.  And  the 
way  these  men  have  of  hugging,  and  slapping  each  other  on  the 
back  looks  too  ridiculous." 

"Yes,"  said  Dorothy.  "And  to  see  wood  tied  in  bundles  and 
strapped  on  the  backs  of  mules,  and  turkeys  driven  in  droves 
through  the  streets,  just  as  we  drive  sheep  and  cattle  to  market." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Littlefield,  "did  you  ever  see  anything 
half  so  tough  and  tasteless  as  these  same  turkeys?  I  attempted  to 
eat  some  to-day  for  dinner,  and  I  verily  believe  it  would  have 
choked  me  but  for  the  timely  arrival  of  a  glass  of  French  wine. 
By  the  way,  how  do  you  folks  manage  to  exist  on  the  abominable 
diet  of  these  Hottentots?" 

"0,  we  brought  our  faithful  cook  with  us.  She  can  furnish 
us  with  our  native  dishes  when  we  like,  but  I  usually  prefer  any- 
thing that  is  foreign.  I  like  to  fancy  myself  a  real  Brazillian," 
said  Lillie. 

"The  Lord  deliver  me  from  your  foreign  dishes!"  said  Little- 
field.     "Miss  Holt,  can't  you  teach  your  cousin  to  be  more  patriotic?" 

"I  am  afraid  Lillie  is  incorrigible,"  said  Dorothy  with  a 
smile. 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Littlefield,  Dorothy  and  I  have  begun  to 
study  Portugese,  so  as  to  be  able  to  understand  what  the  girl 
over  the  way  says  to  her  sweetheart  when  he  comes  and  stands  un- 
der the  veranda  to  talk  with  her.  He  is  not  permitted  to  go  inside, 
you  know,  unless  he  chooses  that  all  the  family  shall  hear  what  he 
has  to  say  to  his  lady-love.     Isn't  this  an  abominable  custom?" 

Littlefield  laughed  and  said  he  did  not  think  it  half  so  bad  as 
the  restriction  which  prevented  a  fellow  from  taking  his  sweet- 
heart to  the  opera  or  any  other  place  of  amusement  without  being 
accompanied  by  the  entire  family,  whose  admission  fee  he  was 
expected  to  pay. 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  Dorothy's  father. 
Mr.  Holt  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  with  iron-grey  hair,  florid  com- 
plexion, and  an  expression  of  benevolence  mingled  with  intelligence 
and  shrewdness.  He  had  a  pleasant  smile,  which  came  quickly 
when  he  recognized  Littlefield. 

"My  dear  fellow,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!  What  lucky  wind 
wafted  you  to  these  distant  parts?" 


6  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

'The  wind  of  chance.    I  suppose  the  trade  wind  brought  you 


over. ' ' 


"Yes.  I  am  on  the  search  for  cinchona  trees,  and  want  to 
collect  vast  quantities  of  bark;  so  I  shall  probably  be  here  for 
several  months." 

"What  have  you  done  with  Dayne?  Did  you  bring  him  with 
you?" 

1  'No,  he  brought  me.  Having  exhausted  all  the  resources  of 
art  in  his  own  country,  he  decided  to  seek  'fresh  fields  and  pas- 
tures new'.  I  found  it  hard  to  amuse  myself  during  a  season  of 
protracted  leisure,  so  I  concluded  to  come  with  him." 

"I  am  now  making  arrangements,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  "to  leave 
next  week  on  a  tour  up  the  Amazon,  for  the  purpose  of  examining 
the  trees  of  the  great  forest.  I  expect  I  shall  press  you  young  men 
into  service.  I  shall  be  delighted  if  you  will  join  the  expedition,  and 
give  me  some  assistance  as  well  as  the  pleasure  of  your  company, 
provided  you  have  nothing  better  on  foot." 

"I  will  speak  to  Dayne  about  it.  I  imagine  nothing  would 
please  him  better.  As  for  myself,  I  shall  be  delighted  to  accept 
your  invitation.     I  am  sure  you  may  count  on  us." 

Littlefield  took  his  departure.  He  walked  with  his  usual  in- 
dolent saunter  to  join  his  friend. 

The  artist  had  finished  his  day's  work,  and  was  leaning 
with  an  air  of  meditation  against  the  trunk  of  a  large  palm.  Upon 
the  approach  of  Littlefield  he  arose  and  said: 

"I  have  had  a  delightful  afternoon;  but  where  have  you  been? 
You  have  been  gone  at  least  three  hours.  See!  It  is  nearly  sunset, 
and  I  have  finished  my  sketch." 

"I,  too,  have  had  a  delightful  afternoon,"  said  Littlefield," 
and  I  would  wager  a  good  deal  that  you  can't  guess  whom  I  have 


seen." 


Dayne  looked  at  him  enquiringly. 

"Not  Miss  Sessford  and  Miss  Holt?" 

"The  very  same.  But  how,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  did 
you  happen  to  guess?" 

"Don't  know,  I  am  sure.  Merely  by  accident,  I  presume.  But 
why  that  quizzical  expression?" 

"Look  here,  old  boy,  I  believe  you  have  forestalled  me  in  mak- 
ing this  discovery,  and  for  some  reason  you  have  kept  it  to  your- 
self.    Now  own  up." 

"You  never  were  more  mistaken.  I  have  done  nothing  of  the 
sort." 

"Then  I  have  it:  you  had,  by  some  means,  gotten  information 
that  they  were  here  before  you  decided  to  come  yourself.  Come, 
confess.     I  believe  I  am  right  this  time." 

Dayne  laughed.  "Well,  suppose  you  are.  Have  you  anything 
to  complain  of  in  my  conduct?" 

"You  sly  dog!"     said    Littlefield,     and  he  threw  back  his 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  7 

head  and  laughed. 

"You  seem  to  find  the  subject  very  amusing,"  said  Dayne,  a 
little  nettled. 

"Upon  my  soul,  this  is  rich!"  said  Littlefield,  "I  know  all  men 
make  fools  of  themselves  in  one  way  or  another  when  they  fall  in 
love;  but  I  never  expected  to  see  one  so  far  gone  as  to  travel  five 
thousand  miles  for  the  sake  of  seeing  the  woman  who  had  rejected 
him." 

"Have  I  ever  told  you  that  she  rejected  me?" 

1  'That  was  not  necessary,  my  dear  boy.  I  am  not  blind.  How- 
ever, 'faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady',  and  there  is  no  accounting 
for  these  women,  they  frown  to-day  and  smile  to-morrow,  and 
vice  versa.  It  is  amusing  enough  to  talk  with  them,  but  hang  me! 
if  one  of  them,  be  she  the  fairest  of  her  sex,  shall  ever  have  the 
satisfaction  of  making  Cyrus  Littlefield  a  greater  fool  than  his 
Maker  intended  him." 

"Indeed!  I  predict  that  when  you  fall  in  love  you  will  be  one 
of  the  sickliest  sentimentalists  that  ever  breathed.  You  deem 
your  heart  an  impregnable  fortress,  but  Cupid  will  one  day  find  a 
loop-hole  through  which  to  send  his  well-directed,  fire-tipped  dart, 
and  the  wound  will  be  deeper  for  having  been  delayed." 

"0,  I  have  been  in  love  a  score  of  times,  and  expect  to  fall  a 
victim  again  and  again  before  I  reach  my  dotage,"  said  Littlefeld, 
nonchalantly. 

"Do  you  never  intend  to  marry?" 

"Not  I!  Give  me  a  life  of  single  blessedness,  if  you  please." 

"I  thought  last  summer  that  you  admired  Miss  Sessford.  She 
is  very  beautiful  and  charming. ' ' 

"So  I  did,  and  so  she  is,  but 

'Shall  I,  wasting  in  despair, 

Die  because  a  woman's  fair?' 

Not  if  I  know  myself" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

One  bright  morning,  as  Dorothy  was  enjoying  her  usual  walk 
through  the  city,  she  was  joined  by  an  Episcopal  clergyman. 

"This meeting  is  most  opportune,  Miss  Dorothy,"  he  said.  "I 
was  just  thinking  of  you,  and  wishing  to  take  you  to  see  a  sick 
child,  the  son  of  a  Russian  Jewess  whose  family  has  located  here 
since  the  late  expulsion  of  the  Jews  from  Russia.  The  boy  receiv- 
ed an  injury  in  his  infancy,  and  is  a  hopeless  cripple.  I  accident- 
ly  made  his  acquaintance,  and  he  has  taken  a  wonderful  liking 
to  me.    He  seems  to  be  a  great  pet,  and  the  family  permit  me  to 


8  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

visit  him,  and  talk  to  him  of  our  religion,  since  it  pleases  and  com- 
forts him." 

"What  a  noble  life  is  that  of  a  missionary!"  said  Dorothy, 
musingly.     "Have  you  made  many  converts  to  the  faith  of  late?" 

"No,  I  regret  to  say  the  work  is  slow;  but  I  am  not  discourag- 
ed. We  must  sow  the  good  seed,  and  wait  patiently  for  the  com- 
ing harvest. ' ' 

They  now  stopped  before  a  low  stone  dwelling.  The  heavy 
door  of  pannelled  mahogany  was  opened  by  a  woman  whose  face, 
though  pale  and  worn,  bore  traces  of  remarkable  beauty, 

"Mrs.  Branski,"  said  the  missionary,  "I  have  at  last  brought 
Miss  Holt  to  see  little  David.  She  is  the  American  lady  of  whom 
I  spoke  to  you  yesterday." 

The  Jewess  extended  her  hand,  and  said  cordially:  "Miss  Holt, 
I  am  grateful  for  this  visit.  I  do  not  feel  that  you  are  a  stranger, 
as  Mr.  Granby  has  so  often  spoken  to  me  of  you.  Come  in  and 
see  my  sick  boy." 

The  child  reclined  on  a  couch,  beside  which  lay  his  crutches. 
A  smile  lighted  his  pale  face  when  the  missionary  took  his  hand. 

"David,  this  is  Miss  Holt,  the  lady  I  told  you  about,  and  prom- 
ised to  bring  to  see  you.  She  will  read  to  you,  and  sing  for  you, 
or  do  anything  to  entertain  you." 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  the  child,  with  a  grateful  look  on  his  wan 
face.  ' 'Uncle  Ezra  sings  for  me  sometimes,  and  so  does  my  mother; 
but  I  like  best  to  hear  the  sweet  church  music  which  they  sing  in 
Mr.  Granby's  church.  I  go  there  sometimes  with  him.  Do  you 
know  any  of  those  pretty  hymns?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  I  will  sing  as  many  as  you  like.  Which  is 
your  favorite?" 

"  'Rock  of  Ages, '  please  sing  that  for  me.  And  if  you  play  the 
guitar,  take  Uncle  Ezra's  over  there.     He  won't  care." 

Dorothy  reached  for  the  instrument.  She  touched  the  strings 
with  skilled  fingers,  and  in  a  voice  sweet  and  low  sang  the  old  fa- 
miliar melody.  Again  and  again  she  sang  the  sweet,  sacred  songs 
so  dear  to  her  heart,  and  the  boy  listened  with  his  dark  eyes  full 
of  feeling.  And  there  was  another  listener  unperceived  by  the 
occupants  of  the  room— a  man  who  stood  spellbound  just  outside 
the  threshold.  His  expression  would  have  puzzled  even  a 
shrewd  observer.  His  large  dark  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  pave- 
ment; not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved.  Suddenly  the  music 
stopped,  and  as  suddenly  he  turned  toward  the  house,  pausing 
for  a  moment  before  entering  the  room  from  whence  had  pro- 
ceeded the  dulcet  strains.  Dorothy  had  not  even  heard  a  foot 
step,  but  she  looked  up  and  saw  the  man  standing  in  the  door 
with  his  eyes  riveted  upon  her  face.  A  strange  thrill  passed 
through  her  as  she  met  this  man's  gaze.  Her  face  flushed  and 
paled,  and  she  could  hear  her  heart  beat.  It  was  only  a  second 
that  the  man  stood  thus  looking  into  her  eyes,  then  he  came  into 
the  room  and  extended  his    hand  to  Mr.  Granby.    The  mission- 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  g 

ary  arose  and  presented  him  to  Dorothy  as,  Ezra  Zarowski, 
David's  uncle.  The  Jew  was  tall,  dark,  and  distinguished  looking-. 
His  manner  was  graceful  and  polished.  He  spoke  only  a  few 
words  to  Dorothy,  addressing  his  conversation  chiefly  to  the  miss- 
ionary. In  a  few  moments  Dorothy  arose,  and  bidding  David  good- 
bye, said  it  was  time  for  her  to  be  going.  As  she  bowed  her  a- 
dieus  to  Ezra  Zarowski,  again  their  eyes  met,  and  again  she  felt 
a  strange  thrill  under  that  penetrating  glance. 

'You  seem  well  acquainted  with  these  Jews,"  she  said  to  Mr. 
Granby  as  soon  as  they  left  the  house. 

"On  the  contrary  I  know  them  but  slightly,  but  they  have  im- 
pressed me  favorably.  This  Ezra  seems  a  fine  fellow,  and  interests 
me  greatly;  his  devotion  to  David  is  beautiful.  And  his  father, 
old  Zarowski,  is  a  type  well  worth  studying.  Mrs.  Branski  and 
her  son  have  aroused  my  sympathy.  I  do  not  know  whether  she  is 
widow  or  deserted  wife,  but  she  has  evidently  passed  through  the 
deep  waters  of  affliction.  They  are  very  reserved.  I  know  al- 
most nothing  of  their  history.  I  only  know  that  they  are  Russian 
Jews  who  formerly  lived  in  St.  Petersburg.  The  boy  once  spoke 
to  me  of  his  father  as  if  he  was  still  living,  but  seeing  that  the 
subject  pained  his  mother  he  hung  his  head  and  abruptly  stopped 
talking.  The  child  is  very  gentle,  and  seems  kindly  disposed  to- 
ward every  one,  with  a  single  exception.  A  certain  Jew,  named 
Beriah,  both  he  and  his  mother  dislike,  although  this  man  mani- 
fests considerable  interest  in  them.  Ezra  and  the  elder  Zawowski 
seem  quite  friendly  with  this  Beriah.  I  have  several  times  found 
them  engaged  in  apparently  confidential  conversation.  I  imagine 
he  is  an  old  friend  who  came  with  them  from  Russia.  He  seems 
to  be  very  inoffensive;  and  the  thing  I  can't  understand  is  why 
Madam  Branski  and  David  so  much  dislike  him.  They  doubtless 
have  reasons,  of  which  I  am  ignorant." 

"Poor  little  David!"  said  Dorothy.  "How  sad  to  be  so  afflict- 
ed." 

'  'Yes,  but  you  must  remember  that  'God  tempers  the  wind  to 
the  shorn  lamb,'  and  even  in  this  life  gives  some  compensation 
for  every  loss. 

"  'There  is  no  ruined  life  beyond  the  smile  of  heaven, 
And  compensating  grace  for  every  loss  is  given; 

The  Coliseum's  shell  is  loved  of  flower  and  vine, 
And  through  its  shattered  rents  the  peaceful  planets  shine?'  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  moonlight  shimmering  through  the  palm  branches  of  the 
Passieo  Publico,  fell  in  long  flakes  of  light  on  the  richly  tinted 
foliage  of  the  shrubbery,   and  turned  the  spray  of  the  fountains 


10  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

into  silver.  The  air  was  filled  with  the  music  of  the  nightly 
serenade,  and  and  the  marble  promenade  which  fronts  the  bay 
was  gay  with  the  bright  dresses  of  the  Rio  women,  who  had  come 
with  their  escorts  to  this  cool  retreat.  As  Dorothy  Holt  and  Felix 
Dayne  entered  the  park,  they  made  their  way  to  a  rustic  seat  be- 
neath the  branches  of  a  large  palm,  in  a  retired  spot,  where  the 
hum  of  voices  reached,  but  could  not  disturb  them. 

"How  beautiful  the  park  looks  by  moonlight,"  said  Dayne,  "a 
veritable  paradise.  But  after  all,  'the  mind  is  its  own  place, '  and 
one  word  of  yours  could  change  this  heaven  into  a  hell.  Dorothy, 
you  have  known  for  a  long  time  that  I  love  you.  I  crossed  the  ocean 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  you.  A  year  ago  you  told  me  that  you  did  not 
love  me,  but  now— Tell  me,  Dorothy,  that  you  have  learned  to 
care  for  me  just  a  little." 

"P'elix,  I  feel  for  you  respect,  esteem,  affection;  but  I  do  not 
love  you;  not  as  a  woman  should  love  the  man  she  marries." 

"Suppose  I  could  be  satisfied  with  the  other?  But  tell  me — is 
there  anyone  else?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  she  said  slowly:  "Years  ago,  when 
I  was  only  sixteen,  I  loved  a  man  with  all  the  passionate  devotion 
of  which  my  young  heart  was  capable.  We  were  engaged  to  be 
married,  but  a  misunderstanding  arose  between  us  which  was 
never  reconciled.  I  always  knew  he  loved  me,  but  he  was  proud 
and  unforgiving;  a  man  of  adamant.  I  will  not  go  into  particu- 
lars, suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  was  jealous  without  cause,  became 
angry  with  me  over  a  trifling  matter,  and  would  never  forgive  me. 
I  wrote  him  explaining  the  whole  affair,  and  offering  to  release 
him  if  he  desired.  His  reply  was  cold  and  formal,  and  I  know 
his  pride  prompted  it. 

He  said  he  knew  I  had  never  really  loved  him;  that  I  had 
broken  his  heart,  and  ruined  his  life,  and  that  he  was  going  where 
he  could  never  see  me  again.  He  did  this,  went  West,  and  passed 
out  of  my  life,  forever. 

"Is  he  still  living?"  asked  Dayne. 

"When  I  last  heard  from  him  he  was  living  in  California,  and 
still  unmarried." 

"Well,  said  Dayne,  "is that  all?" 

"That  is  all.  My  love  is  dead;  it  died  long  ago;  but  I  have 
not  forgotten  what  it  was  while  it  lasted,  and  it  was  entirely  differ- 
ent from  the  feeling  I  have  for  you." 

'  'The  love  of  maturer  years  must  necessarily  differ  from  a  girl- 
ish fancy  at  sixteen,   Dorothy." 

"Yes,  but  the  romantic  fancy  of  a  girl  compared  with  the 
deep  love  of  a  woman  is  'as  moonlight  unto  sunlight;  or  as  water 
unto  wine.'  " 

"Do  you  speak  from  experience?" 

"No,  but  my  woman's  heart  tells  me  this.  Felix,  believe  me,  I 
do  not  fail  to  value  the  love  you  offer  me,  I  wish  with  all  my  heart 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  11 

that  I  could  return  it  measure  for  measure.     Alas!  'we  love  whom 
we  must,  not  whom  we  would  love'." 

"Dorothy,  I  cannot  believe  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  you 
to  love  me.  Should  you  marry  me,  my  deep  and  undying  devotion 
to  you  would  in  time  compel  your  love.     I  would  make  you  love  me. ' ' 

She  smiled  sadly,  turning  away  her  face.  He  went  on:  "Dor- 
othy, without  you  my  life  will  be  merely  a  valueless  existence, 
joyless,  bleak  and  desolate." 

"Do  not  say  that.  One  so  gifted  as  you  can  make  life  grand 
and  glorious.  Fail  not  to  appreciate  the  value  of  this  great  talent 
which  God  has  given  you.  Some  coveted  joys  are  denied  you; 
what  matter?  So  long  as  you  have  your  art,  your  talent,  your  life 
will  be  full  of  grand  possibilities." 

"Not  so.  Before  I  met  you,  no  monk  in  his  cell  could  have 
been  more  indifferent  to  the  charms  of  woman  than  I.  Art  was 
my  idol,  and  I  bowed  before  its  shrine  in  passionate  adoration.  Bat 
you  came  into  my  life  and  taught  me  that  there  is  something  high- 
er and  holier  than  art.  I  had  thought  that  spiritual  love  was  only 
a  poet's  dream.  The  scales  have  fallen  from  my  eyes,  and  now  I 
know  that  it  is  the  divinest  thing  on  earth.  When  a  man  loves  a 
woman  as  I  love  you  she  can  make  of  him  what  she  will.  Take 
me  into  your  life,  be  my  wife,  and  I  shall  not  fail  to  achieve  all 
the  goodness  and  the  greatness  of  which  I  may  be  capable.  Cast 
me  out  of  your  life  and  I  dread  to  think  of  the  consequences." 

"And  does  my  love,  my  marrying  you,  mean  so  much  to  you? 
Is  it  possible  that  I,  a  frail  women,  have  the  making  or  the  mar- 
ring of  your  destiny?'' 

Her  face  was  as  pale  as  the  white  flowers  on  her  bosom. 

"Absolutely,  Dorothy,  absolutely!" 

"And  you  would  be  willing  to  marry  me,  knowing  that  I  feel 
for  you  only  respect,  esteem  and  affection?" 

'  'Yes,  for  I  have  no  fear  that  I  should  fail  to  win  your  love  in 
time.  Only  promise  to  marry  me,  and  I  will  wait  for  months,  even 
years,  if  you  wish.  When  you  have  given  your  pledge,  when  you 
feel  that  you  are  my  affianced  wife,  you  will  begin  to  love  me,  and 
the  love  will  grow.  Try  it,  Dorothy.  Give  me  your  pledge  to- 
night. Will  you  marry  me  some  day?  Say  that  some  day  you 
will  be  my  wife,  my  good  angel." 

She  was  deeply  touched  by  his  pleading.  A  faint  color  rose 
to  her  cheek  and  her  voice  faltered,  as  she  replied:  "Since  I  love 
no  other,  nor  ever  can  perhaps,  since  all  this  means  so  much  to 
you,  then  I  will  do  as  you  wish.     I — " 

They  now  perceived  the  approach  of  two  men  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation,  one  of  whom  Dorothy  recognized  as  the  Jew, 
Ezra  Zarowski.  His  companion,  evidently  of  the  same  nationality, 
was  unknown   to   her.     As  they  drew  near,  Zarowski  was  saying: 

"As  I  have  before  told  you,  Beriah,  I  bear  you  no  grudge. 
You  but  did  your  duty.     It  is  just  that  the  wicked  should  suffer 


12  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

for  their  crimes." 

"If  I  knew  that  I  had  been  the  cause  of  unhappiness  to  you/' 
said  the  other,"  it  would  give  me  sincere  regret,  but: — " 

"Give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  that  score,"  replied  Zarowski, 
"I  never  regarded  the  event  as  a  misfortune,  and  only  lament  the 
fate  of  poor  Branski,  and  the  blight  it  has  cast  over  my  sister's 
life.     But  you  know  Beriah,  I  have  never  considered  you  culpable." 

The  speaker,  becoming  aware  of  the  proximity  of  Dayne  and 
Dorothy,  who  made  a  simultaneous  movement  to  attract  his  atten- 
tion, gave  a  slight  start,  hesitated  a  moment,  then  advanced,  lift- 
ed his  hat,  and  addressed  Dorothy: 

'  'I  beg  your  pardon  for  this  intrusion,  Miss  Holt.  This  spot 
appeared  to  be  deserted,  and  to  offer  a  favorable  opportunity  for  a 
little  private  talk  with  my  friend.  We  did  not  perceive  your 
presence   until  a  moment  ago." 

Dorothy  face  flushed  with  anger,  not  at  the  intrusion,  but  at 
the  speaker's  words.     She  turned  to  him  with  cold  dignity,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Zarowski,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  my  friend,  Mr. 
Dayne." 

The  two  men  greeted  each  other  with  a  formal  bow;  then, 
turning  to  Dorothy,  the  Jew  said: 

"I  cannot  but  regard  this  chance  meeting  as  fortunate,  Miss 
Holt,  since  I  have  received  a  commission  to  deliver  a  message  to 
you  from  my  little  nephew,  in  whom  you  have  shown  such  a  kindly 
interest.  He  wishes  me  to  remind  you  that  your  promise  to  visit 
him  has  remained  for  a  long  time  unfulfilled.  Mr.  Granby  told  me 
this  morning  that  you  expected  soon  to  go  with  your  father  on  a 
tour  up  the  Amazon,  and  he  begs  that  you  will  not  leave  without 
again  seeing  him.     He  continues  quite  ill." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  sunset  on  the  great  Montana.  Along  the  banks  of  the 
Amazon  gleamed  the  white  tents  of  the  cinchona  merchant  and  his 
cascarilleros.  Beneath  the  drooping  branches  of  a  large  mimosa 
Dorothy  and  Lillie  were  arranging  a  table  for  the  family  repast. 
At  the  distance  of  a  few  hundred  yards,  buxom  Dinah  was  per- 
forming a  like  office,  in  preparation  for  the  bark  hunters,  who 
were  momentarily  expected.  Littlefield,  reclining  beneath  a  tall 
patawa  palm,  was  idly  watching  the  movements  of  the  women  and 
thoroughly  enjoying  the  situation. 

"0,  Mr.  Littlefield,"  said  Lily,  tripping  gayly  up  to  him, 
"will  you  have  some  roasted  armadillo  for  supper?" 

'  1  could  not  think  of  depriving  you  of  your  long-coveted  dish, 
though  I  admit  the  very  thought  of  it  makes  my  mouth  water.  I 
shall  expect  you  to  devour  the  whole  animal;  shell  and  all." 


Under  Brazillian  Skies.  13 

"Then  your  expectation  will  not  be  fulfilled,  for  I  shall  preserve 
the  curious  coat  of  arms  to  swell  my  list  of  treasures.  Mr.  Dayne 
is  a  perfect  jewel.  Only  think  of  his  capturing  an  armadillo  just  to 
gratify  my  curiosity?  You  would  not  have  been  so  accommodating, 
sir." 

"I  shall  slay  a  jaguar  tomorrow,  and  bring  you  his  skin  as  a 
trophy. " 

"I  have  not  much  faith  in  your  prowess  as  a  hunter." 

"How  have  I  merited  such  an  opinion?  I  demand  an  instant 
explanation." 

'  '0, 1  judge  of  your  qualities  as  a  hunter  on  general  principles." 

"This  is  unbearable,"  said  Littlefield,  springing  to  his  feet. 
1  'Now,  all  ye  beasts  of  the  forest,  beware,  for  tomorrow  a  formidable 
enemy  shall  beard  you  in  your  dens,  and  your  dead  bodies  shall  be 
brought  as  ghastly  trophies  to  this  calumnious  and  blood-thirsty 
maiden!" 

"Very  well  then,  I  shall  suspend  my  judgment  until  tomorrow, 
when  Mr.*  Dayne  will  take  his  post  as  sentinel  and  give  you  an  op- 
portunity for  displaying  your  skill." 

At  this  moment  a  cracking  of  branches  was  heard,  followed  by 
the  tramp  of  many  feet;  and  the  bark  hunters,  headed  by  Mr.  Holt, 
emerged  from  the  forest,  with  Dayne  bringing  up  the  rear.  The 
cascarilleros  were  native  Brazillians,  armed  with  axes  and  scalping 
knives,  which  were  used  in  felling  and  stripping  the  cinchona  trees. 

"Here  comes  our  Nimrod,"  said  Lily,  "what  valuable  trophy 
have  we  this  time?" 

She  clapped  her  hands  and  danced  for  joy  when  Dayne  exhib- 
ited a  scarlet  flamingo,  and  a  large  jacana,  or  water-hen.  Mr.  Holt 
brought  in  a  bunch  of  macaws  and  toucans,  and  one  of  the  Indians 
a  capivara. 

All  was  excitement  now,  and  Lily  at  once  proceeded  to  secure 
the  crest  of  twelve  black  feathers  which  ornamented  the  neck  of 
the  jacana,  also  the  horny  spurs  from  its  wings,  which,  with  some 
of  the  scarlet  plumage  of  the  flamingo,  she  added  to  her  stock  of 
curios. 

Our  party  now  sat  down  to  regale  themselves  after  the  labors 
of  the  day. 

"Mr.  Dayne,  can  I  help  you  to  cassava?"  asked  Lily,  passing  a 
plate  of  bread  made  from  the  yucca  plant.     "It  is  very  palatable." 

"These  roasted  peach  palms  are  delicious,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Holt. 

"I  vow,  this  is  a  feast  fit  for  the  Gods,"  said  the  artist,  helping 
himself  to  mangoes  and  sweet  limes. 

All  at  once  Littlefield  jumped  up,  grabbed  a  plate,  and  going  to 
the  table  occupied  by  the  Brazillians,  returned  with  a  huge  chunk  of 
armadillo,  which  he  placed  before  Lily. 

'  'I  have  no  intention  to  be  deprived  of  the  pleasure  of  witness- 
ing your  relish  of  this  great  dish,"  said  he. 

"0,  Dinah!  how  could  you  have  made  such  a  mistake  as  to  give 


1U  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

my  precious  armadillo  to  the  cascarilleros?"  said  she,  proceeding  at 
once  to  convey  a  small  morsel  to  her  mouth.  It  was  evident  from 
her  expression  that  the  flavor  was  not  agreeable,  but  she  made  he- 
roic efforts  to  consume  a  small  portion.  Littlefield  watched  her  with 
an  amused  smile.  With  a  glance  at  him  half  merry,  half  defiant, 
she  declared  roasted  armadillo  superior  to  anything  she  ever  tasted, 
and  insisted  that  everyone  at  the  table  should  try  it.  They  did  so, 
amid  a  chorus  of  laughter.  Littlefield,  making  a  wry  face,  declared 
that  next  to  Rio  turkey  it  was  the  most  abominamble  flesh  the  world 
afforded. 

After  supper  the  bark  hunters  retired  to  their  tents,  leaving 
one  of  their  number  to  keep  the  first  watch.  Mr.  Holt  was  fatigued, 
but  before  retiring  he  told  the  party  of  the  fine  mancha  of  cinchona 
trees  which  he  had  that  day  discovered,  together  with  serveral  splen- 
did specimens  of  laxa,  which  produces  the  best  quality  of  Peruvian 
bark.  "There  are  thirty  or  forty  species  of  cinchona  trees,  but  we 
have  found  only  eight.  I  have  a  number  of  trees  felled,  and  the 
bark  cut  in  sections  and  left  to  dry.  My  cascarilleros  worked  like 
Trojans,  and  if  we  have  a  like  success  every  day,  this  forest  will 
prove  a  perfect  bonanza." 

"Did  you  find  many  varieties  of  palm?"  asked  Littlefield  of 
Dayne. 

"Only  three,"  replied  the  artist:  "the  sago,  the  date,  and  the 
busso.  The  latter  has  leaves  thirty  feet  long,  which  are  often  used 
for  thatching  houses.  It  was  a  great  sight  to  me.  By  the  way,  miss 
Dorothy,  I  have  brought  you  a  sprig  of  smilax,  and  also  some  floss 
from  the  silk  cotton  tree,  which  is  said  to  stop  bleeding.  Be  sure 
to  preserve  the  latter  in  case  it  may  be  needed. " 

Mr.  Holt  and  the  artist  being  overcome  by  fatigue,  now  retired 
to  their  tent,  which  was  only  a  short  distance  from  that  occupied 
by  the  women.  To-night  Littlefield  had  the  first  watch  in  this  quar- 
ter of  the  encampment,  and  as  it  was  quite  early,  Dorothy  and  Lily 
still  remained  outside,  in  their  hammocks,  which  were  swung  under 
some  trees  growing  conveniently  near. 

Littlefield  occasionally  made  a  circuit  of  inspection,  carrying  a 
loaded  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and  a  brace  of  pistols  in  a  belt  conceal- 
ed beneath  his  scarlet  poncho  of  vicuna  wool.  All  the  men  of  the 
expedition  wore  ponchos  of  different  colors  and  textures.  This  is  a 
garment  much  used  in  South  America.  It  is  very  much  the  size  and 
shape  of  an  ordinary  blanket,  with  an  aperture  for  the  head,  and 
loosely  flowing  ends  dyed  a  great  variety  of  bright  colors.  This 
garment,  which  serves  the  double  purpose  of  a  cloak  by  day  and  a 
bed  by  night,  was  adopted  by  our  party  for  convenience.  Between 
the  rounds  of  inspection  Littlefield  sat  with  Lily  and  Dorothy. 
The  situation  had  a  novel  and  romantic  charm  for  all,  especially  for 
Lily,  who  was  very  impressionable.  She  reclined  languidly  in  her 
hammock,  and  let  her  imagination  have  full  reign. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  Littlefield,  remarking  her 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  15 

abstracted  expression. 

1  'You'll  have  to  make  a  more  tempting  offer.  I  cannot  dispose 
of  them  for  such  a  trifle." 

"Well  then,  my  pistols,  my  poncho." 

"All  equally  valueless." 

1  'Then  I  offer  you  my  kingdom,  my — anything  that  I  possess 
for  a  disclosure  of  your  abstruse  meditations." 

'  'You  haven't  any  kingdom,  nor  anything  worth  having,  so  I 
shall  keep  my  abstruse  meditations'  to  myself,"  and  she  turned  her 
face  away  from  him,  and  hummed  an  air  from  "The  little  Tycoon." 
Littlefield  laughed. 

"Miss  Dorothy,  what  do  you  think  of  such  treatment?  Your 
cousin  has  shocking  manners." 

Dorothy  smiled,  and  Lily  stopped  singing  long  enough  to  say, 
"Evil  communication,  etc." 

'  'Littlefield  reached  over,  gave  her  hammock  a  toss,  then  walk- 
ed to  some  distance,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  her,  talking  to 
Dorothy.  He  questioned  her  concerning  her  late  visit  to  little  David 
Branski.  She  said  she  hoped  on  her  return  to  induce  his  mother 
to  allow  him  to  spend  a  week  with  her. 

As  Lily  had  been  perfectly  quiet  for  some  time— a  very  unu- 
sual thing — Littefield  walked  up  to  her  hammock,  addressed  some 
remark  to  her,  and  found  her  sound  asleep.  There  was  no  moon 
that  night,  but  a  swinging  lantern  within  the  tent  threw  a  flickering 
light  on  the  face  of  the  sleeper,  and  Littlefield  was  loath  to  turn 
away  from  the  fair  vision.  He  whispered  Dorothy  not  to  awaken 
her  until  his  return,  as  it  was  now  time  to  make  his  round  again. 

All  was  still  in  the  vast  forest,  save  now  and  then  the  scream 
of  the  alma  perdida,  or  lost  soul,  a  night  hawk  whose  mournful 
cry  has  given  rise  to  its  gloomy  appellation. 

Seeing  nothing  to  excite  his  alarm,  Littlefield  was  about  to 
return  to  the  women,  when  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  whirring 
noise.  Going  to  the  back  of  the  tents,  he  saw  old  Dinah  sitting  in 
the  door,  fast  asleep,  her  head  lolling  on  her  breast.  He  found  the 
noise  to  proceed  from  the  wings  of  some  bird  hovering  over  the 
old  woman's  head.  A  few  drops  of  blood  trickling  down  her  neck 
caused  a  horrible  suspicion  to  enter  his  mind.  With  a  blow  from 
his  rifle  he  struck  down  the  creature,  and  picking  it  up  beheld  the 
hideous  from  of  the  phyllostoma,  or  blood-sucking  vampire.  The 
large  membranous  wings,  long  snout,  and  red  hair  of  the  bat  gave 
it  a  very  repulsive  appearance;  and  Littlefield,  securing  it  to  the 
branch  of  a  tree  by  a  stout  cord,  concluded  to  say  nothing  of  his 
adventure  until  morning.  The  remaining  hours  of  the  watch  seemed 
very  long  to  him,  as  the  women  had  retired  at  ten  o'clock;  but  he 
managed  to  while  away  the  time  taking  notes  of  the  wonders  of  the 
great  forest.  At  twelve  o'clock  he  called  Dayne,  and  turned  in 
for  the  night. 

Dayne  took  his  post,  and  for  an  hour  nothing  happened  to  dis- 


16  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

• 

turb  him;  when  suddenly  he  was  startled  by  a  distant  roar  which 
shook  the  forest,  and  was  almost  blood-curdling  in  its  ferocity. 

"Carrambo!"  cried  the  Indian  sentry.  "The  jaguar!  the  jagu- 
ar!" 

For  a  time  all  was  excitement  and  dread,  but  the  roars  soon 
sounded  farther  off,  and  finally  ceased  altogether;  and  silence  again 
brooded  over  the  scene. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Holt  and  the  other  bark  hunters  made 
an  early  start  for  the  cinchona  mancha,  and  the  artist  was  left  in 
charge  of  the  camp.  He  took  his  sketching  material  beneath  the 
shade  of  a  great  zamang  tree,  which  towered  seventy  feet  high. 
Looking  up  from  his  work  he  observed  Dorothy,  standing  with 
a  preoccupied  air,  beneath  a  tall  patawa  close  by,  with  a  clus- 
ter of  the  violet  fruit  in  her  hand.  Other  clusters  of  the  same 
oval,  plum-like  fruit  hung  over  her  head,  just  peeping  from  beneath 
the  green  leaves.  She  wore  a  clinging  white  dress,  and  was  with- 
out other  ornament  than  her  own  natural  charms;  and  Dayne  was 
forcibly  struck  by  her  Madonna-like  beauty.  He  immediately  shift- 
ed his  material,  as  the  idea  occured  to  him  to  paint  her  portrait  as 
she  stood  before  him.  She  remained  so  long  without  moving  that 
the  artist  had  time  to  make  a  hasty  sketch  before  she  observed  him. 
He  saw  with  delight  that  he  had  faithfully  caught  her  attitude  and 
expression. 

Lillie  was  in  the  door  of  the  tent  examining  with  much  interest 
the  vampire  bat  which  Littlefield  had  killed  the  previous  night; 
every  now  and  then  frightening  old  Dinah  by  bringing  the  horrid 
creature  in  too  close  proximity  to  her  bare  feet,  by  means  of  a  stick 
which  the  mischievous  girl  held  in  her  hand. 

"Bless  de  Lord,"  exclaimed  the  old  negress,  "jest  ter  think 
dat  creeter  had  his  tumble  snout  stuck  in  de  back  er  my  neck  just 
a  suckin'  my  blood  fer  dear  life.  I  might  ha'  been  er  dead  corpse 
ef  it  hadn'  been  fer  Mr.  Littlefield.  It  makes  me  feel  creepy  jest 
to  study  'bout  it." 

The  bark  hunters  took  lunch  with  them  and  did  not  return  till 
sunset.  When  they  made  their  appearence  they  were  preceeded  by 
Littlefield,  who  held  aloft  the  spotted,  yellow  skin  of  some  animal 
he  had  slain,  while  Lillie  running  to  meet  him,  shouted. 

11  'Hail  to  the  chief 

Who  in  triumph  advances!'  " 

As  the  beautiful  hide  was  flung  at  her  feet,  Littlefield  said, 
'  'Behold,  fair  lady,  the  savage  ocelot— first  cousin  to  the  dreadful 
jaguar,  slain  at  the  most  deadly  peril,  by  the  bold  hunter  whose 
courage  you  dared  yesterday  to  question. " 

"I  blush  for  my  short-sightedness,  and  humbly  solicit  the  par- 
don of  the  brave  champion  who  has  this  day  won  his  spurs  in  sin- 
gle combat." 

"Queen  of  love  and  beauty,"  quoth  Littlefield,  kneeling  on  the 
trophy  at  her  feet,  "deign  to  bestow  upon  the  victor  some  token  of 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  17 

your  regard.'' 

Smiling",  she  graciously  extended  her  hand  to  Littlefield,  who 
kissed  it  with  much  gallantry.  Dorothy  and  the  artist  now  came 
up.  The  latter,  waving  his  sombrero  over  his  head,  exclaimed: 
"Fortuna  juvat  or  denies!" 

"Veni,  vidi,  vici"  replied  Littlefield,  rising  and  going  towards 
the  camp. 

Mr.  Holt  now  joined  them  and  gave  a  description  of  some  curi- 
ous trees  he  had  seen  that  day.  Those  which  interested  him  most 
were  the  valador,  with  its  flying  seeds,  the  marima,  or  shirt  tree, 
and  the  pashiuba  palm,  with  its  pinnate  leaves,  and  protruding 
roots,  rising  to  a  distance  of  twelve  feet  above  the  ground,  so 
that  a  man  could  safely  stand  beneath  the  trunk.  The  fruit  of 
this  tree  is  oval  and  red. 

That  night  Mr.  Holt  occupied  himself  between  the  rounds  of 
inspection  by  removing  the  wax  from  the  leaves  of  the  wax  palm, 
for,  the  purpose  of  making  on  the  morrow,  a  new  supply  of  candles. 
One  of  these  waxen  tapers  burned  within  the  tent  of  the  women. 

Presently  his  attention  was  arrested  by  a  stir  among  the  bush- 
es to  the  north  of  the  tent.  Walking  cautiously  in  the  direction  of 
the  noise,  he  saw  the  form  of  a  large  animal,  with  gleaming  eyes, 
and  crouching  attitude.  Its  tail  oscillated  from  side  to  side,  and 
its  aspect  was  ferocious  and  threatening.  Mr.  Holt  had  cocked 
his  rifle,  and  was  about  to  fire,  when  he  heard  a  hissing  noise,  as 
of  something  passing  rapidly  through  the  air.  The  next  moment 
the  animal  uttered  a  fierce  growl,  and  turned  as  if  for  flight,  but 
not  before  a  rifle  ball  had  pierced  its  side.  It  fell  at  full  length, 
and  died  instantly.  Mr.  Holt  now  approached,  and  found  the  an- 
imal to  be  a  large  puma,  the  maneless  lion  of  South  America.  Its 
long  body,  of  a  reddish  yellow  color,  was  pierced  not  only  by  the 
rifle  ball,  but  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  shot  from  the  gravitana,  or 
blow-gun,  of  the  Indian  sentinel  on  duty. 

The  next  morning  preparations  were  made  for  the  return  jour- 
ney. A  number  of  rafts  had  been  loaded  with  bark  and  dispatch- 
ed at  an  early  hour.  Mr.  Holt  had  gone  on  ahead,  with  the  tents 
and  other  luggage,  to  the  steamer  which  awaited  their  arrival  a 
few  miles  up  the  river. 

Dorothy  and  Dayne  were  in  one  canoe,  and  Lillie  and  Little- 
field  in  another.  Lillie  held  in  her  lap  a  beautiful  white  umbrella 
bird,  while  at  her  feet,  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  lay  an  ibis,  or 
tiger  crane,  (with  markings  like  the  jaguar)  and  a  large  king  vul- 
ture, with  orange  head  and  cream  plumage.  Her  stock  of  curios 
had  been  greatly  increased  in  the  Montana,  and  now  she  was  the 
proud  possessor  of  these  three  rare  birds,  which  she  would  have 
mounted  by  a  taxidermist  at  Para. 

Quiet  reigned  in  the  great  forest,  only  broken  by  the  cries  of 
the  howling  monkeys,  and  the  screams  of  the  water  birds  that  dis- 


18  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

ported  themselves  on  the  river's  bosom.  King-fishers,  gypsy 
birds,  and  boat-bills  wheeled  in  airy  circles  overhead,  and  ever  and 
anon  darted  beneath  the  water  in  search  of  prey. 

When  they  had  reached  the  steamer,  and  all  were  aboard,  as 
the  boat  moved  away  on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Amazon,  all  waved 
their  hats  and  handkerchiefs  in  token  of  farewell,  and  Littlefield 
leaning  over  the  ship's  railing,  exclaimed;  "Adieu,  enchanted  for- 
est!   Adieu  land  of  adventure,  romance  and  dreams! 

'All  that's  bright  must  fade! 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest. 

All  that's  sweet  was  made, 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest.'  " 


CHAPTER  VII.  » 

A  few  days  after  the  return  to  Rio,  Dorothy  took  little  David 
to  see  the  Zoological  Gardens.  After  tiring  of  watching  the  huge 
snakes  and  monkeys,  David  had  been  listening  to  the  Brazil-mock- 
ing bird,  which  so  perfectly  imitates  the  human  whistle  that  the 
sound  can  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  it.  David  was  greatly  a- 
mused  by  this  bird,  which  whistled  several  familiar  airs  with  al- 
most perfect  accuracy. 

Suddenly  perceiving  his  uncle  standing  a  short  distance  from 
him,  he  exclaimed:  "0  Uncle  Ezra,  come  and  listen  to  this  funny 
little  bird  whistle." 

Zarowski  and  Felix  Dayne  approached  at  the  same  time. 

As  the  former  stood  almost  directly  in  front  of  her,  Dorothy 
could  not  help  observing  his  splendid  physique.  The  artist  looked 
like  a  mere  boy  beside  him.  There  was  a  calm  dignity  about  this 
Jew,  and  a  slight  hauteur  of  manner  which  gave  him  a  distinguish- 
ed appearance.  His  eyes  possessed  a  peculiar  brilliancy  and  mag- 
netism. Dorothy  seemed  impelled  by  some  mysterious  influence 
to  meet  their  glance.  The  man's  powerful  personality  dominated 
her  whenever  she  was  in  his  presence. 

Dayne  soon  withdrew,  and  standing  at  some  distance  from 
the  group,  sketched  with  masterly  strokes  the  profile  of  the  Jew, 
which  was    thrown  into  strong  relief  against   the  glowing    sky. 

Zarowski,  finding  himself  alone  with  Dorothy  and  the  child, 
seated  himself  on  the  rustic  bench  beside  them. 

"Were  you  ever  in  Russia,  Miss  Holt?" 

"No,  never,"  replied  Dorothy. 

1  'Then  you  can  form  little  idea  of  the  contrast  between  that 
country  and  this." 

"You  are  a  native  of  Russia,  Mr.  Granby  tells  me." 


Under  Brazillian  Skise  19 

"Yes,  and  have  spent  most  of  my  life  there."  He  paused, 
then  added,  "  There  are  many  attractions  in  this  city;  but  'an  exile 
from  home  pleasure  dazzles  in  vain.'  I  cannot  help  sighing  some 
times  for  the  snow-capped  hills  and  cold  winds  of  the  frigid  zone." 

Dorothy  felt  her  interest  and  sympathy  aroused.  She  was  a- 
bout  to  reply,  when  little  David  said: 

"You  would  not  like  to  go  to  Siberia  would  you,  uncle  Ezra, 
where—?" 

'  'No, "  replied  the  Jew  with  a  perceptible  change  of  countenance, 
"I  do  not  like  to  think  of  that  country,  and  I  certainly  have  no  de- 
sire to  see  it.  No,  David,  I  was  thinking  of  St.  Petersburg,  'There 
is  no  place  like  home.'  " 

His  face  settled  into  an  expression  of  deep  melancholy.  Pres- 
ently he  said,  with  an  air  of  apology: 

"The  subject  of  exile  is  too  gloomy  to  dwell  upon  in  a  spot 
like  this,  where  everything  seems  to  smile  beneath  the  splendor  of 
the  tropic  sun.  Did  you  find  your  sojourn  in  the  Montana  enjoyable, 
Miss  Holt?" 

"Extremly  so.  We  lived  in  tents,  and  the  whole  situation 
was  novel  and  romantic.  It  was  so  delightful;  an  experience  it 
will  always  be  a  pleasure  to  remember." 

"Mr.  Dayne  tells  me  that  he  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Littlefield 
accompanied  the  expedition." 

"Yes,  and  they  made  themselves  very  useful." 

Zarowski  smiled.  '  'No  doubt  the  situation  had  a  romantic 
charm  for  them  also." 

His  penetrating  glance  rested  for  a  moment  searchingly  on 
her  face,  and  she  was  annoyed  to  feel  her  color  rising.  She  tried 
to  look  unconscious,  but  those  dark  eyes  seemed  to  penetrate  her 
inmost  thoughts.  Presently  he  surprised  her  by  asking  abruptly 
"How  long  do  you  remain  in  Rio?" 

"Only  a  short  time,  I  think. "  she  noticed  he  changed  coun- 
tenance slightly. 

At  this  moment  Dayne  and  Littlefield  joined  them,  and  Zaro- 
wski took  his  leave. 

"What  has  Zarowski  been  saying  to  you?"  asked  the  artist 
with  a  smile. 

"I  can  recall  nothing  of  consequence  that  he  has  said,  except 
that  he  is  an  exile  from  Russia,  and  we  had  heard  that  before." 

"How  very  entertaining  he  must  have  been,"  remarked  Lillie, 
"to  sit  here  an  hour  and  say  nothing." 

Dorothy  smiled,  and  colored.  '  'He  should  be  called  Ezra  of  the 
silent  tongue." 

"And  speaking  eyes,"  said  Dayne.  "See  if  this  is  a  good 
likeness,"  he  continued,  displaying  his  recent  sketch. 

Dorothy's  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the  picture.  She  held  her 
breath. 


20  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  asked  Dayne. 
"It  is  life-like,"  she  exclaimed,"  hastily  rising.     She  suggest- 
ed that  they  return  home  before  the  night-dews  began  to  fall. 

As  they  entered  the  city,  David  was  attracted  by  the  colored 
glass  balls  which  adorned  so  many  of  the  yards.  Almost  all  the 
yards  of  the  wealthy  are  ornamented  by  these  balls,  and  beautiful 
marble  statuettes.  Very  few  flowers  are  seen,  but  the  foliage  of 
the  plants  is  variagated  and  beautiful.  The  trees  are  evergreens. 
No  blighting  frost  strips  them  of  their  foliage,  and  their  unfading 
leaves  are  an  emblem  of  the  never-ending  warmth  and  beauty  of 
this  land  of  the  tropics. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Holt  took  Lillie  and  Dorothy  to  the 
Botanical  Gardens,  six  miles  out  from  the  city.  These  gardens  are 
famous  for  their  magnificent  avenues  of  royal  palms.  The  princi- 
pal avenue  is  half  a  mile  long  and  fifty  feet  wide.  The  trunks  of 
the  palms  tower  straight  as  an  arrow,  having  no  branches  within 
ninety  feet  of  the  ground.  Their  heads  are  crowned  by  a  tuft  of 
foliage  whose  verdue  never  fades  so  long  as  life  endures  in  the 
tree.  Other  handsome  avenues  ornament  these  gardens,  where 
the  coffee  tree,  with  its  exquisite  white  flowers  and  bright  green 
and  red  berries,  the  mango,  the  bread  fruit,  and  other  beautiful 
trees  flourish. 

"This  is  a  veritable  Paradise,"  said  Lillie,  seating  herself  be- 
neath a  tall  palm. 

"I  believe  we  have  at  last  found  the  most  delightful  spot  in 
Brazil,"  said  Dorothy,  sinking  languidly  on  the  seat  beside  her 
cousin,  with  a  preoccupied  look  on  her  face. 

They  had  not  been  long  in  the  park  before  they  were  joined  by 
the  artist  and  Littlefield.  The  latter  was  in  one  of  his  talkative 
moods. 

1 1  saw  a  very  amusing  sight  today, "  said  he.  '  'I  was  standing 
in  front  of  my  hotel  idly  watching  the  passers-by,  when  I  was  at- 
tracted by  the  angry  tones  of  two  men  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street.  They  were  talking  in  Portuguese,  so  I  could  not  understand 
a  word  of  what  was  said,  but  it  was  very  evident  that  they  were 
quarreling. '  They  jesticulated  most  frantically,  waving  their  arms 
over  their  heads  in  a  very  grotesque  manner.  For  some  time  they 
refrained  from  actual  combat.  At  last  one  of  them  became  so  in- 
censed that  he  struck  the  other  on  the  breast;  and  then  followed  a 
quick  succession  of  blows  from  both  sides.  In  a  few  seconds  a 
policeman  came  up  and  quietly  arrested  them.  I  understand  they 
will  be  sentenced  to  a  long  imprisonment  for  this  violation  of  the 
peace  and  dignity  of  the  state. 

"These  Brazillians  are  queer  characters,  sluggish,  deliberate, 
unemotional.  Lord  Chesterfield  could  not  approach  them  in  polite- 
ness. If  you  step  on  a  man's  toe  and  grind  his  corn  to  powder  he 
smiles  and  politely  begs  your  pardon  for  having  his  foot  in  your  way. 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  21 

Speaking  of  their  deliberation,  I  was  forcibly  struck  by  it  this 
morning. 

"A  gentleman  at  the  breakfast  table  got  a  chicken  bone  in  his 
throat  and  was  terribly  choked.  A  physician  living  on  the  next 
square  was  hastily  summoned.  He  refused  to  come  unless  a  car- 
riage was  sent  for  him.  This  was  done,  and  he  arrived  in  about 
two  hours,  and  removed  the  bone,  the  poor  man  in  the  meantime 
having  suffered  torments."" 

"Be  careful  how  you  eat,  hereafter,"  said  Lillie. 

"I  certainly  shall,  especially  when  I  am  gnawing  bones." 
'  'Now  you  may  talk  about  the  Brazilians  as  much  as  you  please, ' ' 
said  Dorothy,  "but  in  what  other  country  con  Id  a  monarchy 
have  been  overthrown  with  so  little  bloodshed?  They  have  given 
an  example  to  the  world  that  should  embalm  their  memory  in  glory. 
Think  of  the  contrast  between  the  recent  revolution  and  others. 
If  we  could  have  abolished  slavery  in  our  country  by  some  method 
as  well  planned  and  systematically  executed,  how  infinitely  better 
it  would  have  been." 

"Speaking  of  the  late  revolution,"  said  Littlefield,  "here  are 
some  verses  that  our  poet  artist  composed  on  the  other  side  of  the 
sea,  when  he  was  enthused  by  the  reports  of  the  wonderful  birth  of 
the  republic.  I  think  I  have  them  in  my  pocket-book,  which  is  a 
general  receptacle  for  all  sorts  of  rubbish.  Yes,  here  is  the  pro- 
duction; I  thought  I  had  it.     Ladies,  attention! 

BRAZIL. 

"Rejoice,  all  nations  of  earth, 
At  the  new  republic's  birth! 
Now  there  floats,  o'er  land  and  sea. 
Brazil's  fair  flag  of  liberty. 

"How  that  matchless,  glorious  word, 
Liberty,  men's  souls  hath  stirred! 
How  that  name  hath  glory  shed 
On  heroes  who  for  it  have  bled — ! 

"Empire  ne'er  hath  fallen  before 
But  the  land  was  stained  with  gore, 
Kings  their  crowns  have  never  lost, 
But  countless  numbers  felt  the  cost; 

"But  thou,  Brazil,  thy  fetters  broke 
With  one  grand  and  master  stroke! 
Without  flow  of  blood  or  tears 
Its  head  the  new  republic  rears. 

"Unnumbered  suns  will  rise  and  set 

Ere  the  nations  can  forget 

Thy  example,  and  the  skill 

With  which  thy  people  wrought  their  will 


22  Under  Brazillian  Shies 

"One  night  an  empire  thou  didst  stand, 
Seeming  held  by  iron  hand; 
Ere  another  morning's  dawn 
A  grand  republic  had  been  born. 

"All  hail  to  thee,  fair  tropic  clime! 
Let  thy  bells  with  rapture  chime, 
Let  thy  people  with  one  voice, 
Give  thanks  to  God,  and  all  rejoice. ' ' 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

On  their  return  home  our  party  came  in  contact  with  a  funeral 
procession.  The  hearse  and  coffin  were  blue,  and  long  plumes  of 
the  same  color  decorated  the  heads  of  the  mules  which  conveyed 
the  silent  occupant  to  his  last  home.  This  bright  color  indicated 
that  the  body  was  that  of  a  litte  child.  Either  pink  or  blue  deco- 
rations are  always  used  on  such  occasions. 

The  funeral  procession  consisted  exclusively  of  men,  women  are 
not  permitted  to  witness  the  solemn  rites  of  the  dead,  in  Brazil. 

As  the  long  procession  filed  slowly  down  the  street,  all  hats 
were  removed. 

"This  custom  of  the  Brazillians  is  a  solemn  and  heartiful  one," 
said  Dayne. 

"Let's  follow  in  the  rear  of  the  procession,  and  witness  the 
end  of  the  ceremony,"  said  Littlefield. 

When  the  cemetery  was  reached,  and  the  service  for  the  dead 
solemnly  pronounced  in  Latin,  the  body  of  the  child  was  removed 
from  the  coffin,  and  deposited  in  the  grave.  The  tiny,  shallow  blue 
coffin  was  then  put  back  into  the  hearse,  and  returned  to  the  under- 
taker from  whom  it  had  been  hired  for  the  occasion.  The  poorer 
classes  of  Brazil  are  buried  in  this  way. 

'  "I  find  there  are  no  protestant  churches  in  Brazil"  said  Little- 
field.  "Different  religious  denominations  send  missionaries  here, 
who  have  houses  of  worship,  which  are  forbidden  by  law  to  have 
either  steeple  or  bell,  or  in  any  respect  to  present  the  appearence  of 
a  church. 

"A  singular  restriction,"  said  Dayne. 

The  next  morning  Lillie  and  Dorothy  went  to  Dayne's  Studio. 
He  was  nicely  fitted  up,  and  had  quite  a  selection  of  paintings.  He 
had  just  completed  a  fine  oil  painting  of  the  Bay  of  Rio.  His  touches 
of  color  in  this  exquisite  picture  were  inimitable.  A  setting  sun 
threw  a  flood  of  amber  light  over  the  scene,  and  the  western  clouds 
were  as  gorgeous  as  a  panorama.  Another  fine  picture  was  a  land- 
scape in  which  the  Corcovada  and  the  Gavea  loomed  in  the  distance. 
Midway  up  the  Corcovada  was  a  man  whose  face  and  figure  bore  a 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  23 

perfect  resemblance  to  Ezra  Zarowski.  A  storm  was  gathering, 
and  the  clouds  hung  in  heavy  masses  over  the  mountain  tops;  but 
the  figure  of  the  Jew,  thrown  into  bold  relief  against  the  dark  back- 
ground, bore  a  fearless  aspect,  as  though  he  defied  the  gathering 
tempest  to  impede  his  onward  progress.  At  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
sat  an  old  man,  with  snow-white  hair  and  beard— a  perfect  repre- 
sentation of  the  elder  Zarowski.  He  was  leaning  upon  a  staff,  and 
gazing  wistfully  after  the  figure  ascending  the  heights. 

Daynenow  showed  them  several  forest  scenes, —among  them  a 
fight  between  a  jaguar  and  a  crocodile.  Last  in  the  collection  was 
a  sketch  of  the  banks  of  the  Amazon,  with  Dorothy  standing  under 
the  patawa  palm. 

"Mr.  Dayne,  that  is  exquisite,"  said  Lillie.  "I  must  have  a 
copy." 

"Let  me  show  you  my  favorite  picture  of  all,  "said  he,  and  he 
led  them  to  a  large  oil  painting — a  moon-light  scene  in  the  Passieo 
Publico,  with  the  lights  flashing  through  the  avenues  of  palms. 
Dorothy  divined  what  had  been  in  his  thoughts  when  he  painted 
this  picture.  Their  eyes  met  in  one  long  gaze,  then  she  turned  sadly 
away  without  speaking.  Lillie  congratulated  him  on  his  success  in 
painting  the  beautiful  scenery  of  Rio. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

When  Ezra  Zarowski  reached  home  it  was  after  dark.  His  face 
wore  an  expression  of  deep  gloom,  and  he  walked  without  heeding 
his  surroundings.  He  was  met  at  the  door  by  his  sister,  who  drew 
him  aside  a  moment,  before  entering,  saying  as  she  did  so,  "Ezra 
prepare  yourself  for  sad  news.  Father  has  had  a  sudden  seizure. 
He  has  been  unconscious  for  several  hours.  His  heavy  breathing 
and  ghastly  pallor  make  me  fear  the  worst.  Dr.  Eliot  has  just  left. 
He  gave  me  but  little  hope."     She  spoke  in  her  native  tongue. 

The  expression  on  Ezra  Zarowski' s  face  changed  to  one  of 
anxiety  and  alarm.  Almost  before  his  sister  had  finished  speak- 
ing, he  entered  the  room  where  his  father  was  lying,  and  sat  down 
beside  him,  feeling  his  pulse  and  listening  to  the  beating  of  his 
heart.  Being  somewhat  reassured  by  his  examination,  he  motioned 
his  sister  to  a  seat  beside  him,  and  inquired  if  his  father  had  had 
any  premonition  of  this  attack. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "he  seemed  unusually  cheerful  and  bright 
after  your  departure.  I  hope  he  may  revive  sufficiently  to  speak 
to  us." 

Ezra  did  not  reply,  but  sat  with  his  head  resting  on  his  hands, 
watching  intently  every  movement  of  his  father.  The  draught  left 
by  the  physician,  was  administered  every  hour,   but  it  was  near 


2k  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

midnight  before  the  old  man  showed  any  signs  of  consciousness. 
At  last  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  recognized  his  son.  After  a  few 
feeble  attempts  to  speak,  he  said  in  Russian, '  'I  am  glad  you  are  come, 
Ezra.  Do  not  leave  me  again,  for  my  hours  are  numbered.  The 
blow  has  fallen  at  last— the  blow  that  I  have  so  long  anticipated, 
and  the  sands  of  life  are  running  low." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  closed  his  eyes.  His  son  took  his  hand, 
asking  hoarsly  if  there  was  anything  he  could  do.  The  sick  man 
shook  his  head. 

"Where  is  little  David?"  he  asked.  "Ah!  I  remember,  he  is 
with  the  Amercian  lady.  Do  not  send  for  him.  Take  care  of  the 
boy,  Ezra." 

"Do  you  suffer,  Father?"  asked  Mrs.  Branski,    anxiously. 

"The  pain  is  all  here,"  he  said,  putting  his  hand  to  his  breast. 
"It  is  better  now,  but  it  will  return." 

He  soon  dropped  into  a  light  sleep,  from  which  he  presently 
awoke  with  a  start,  and  sat  up  in  bed. 

"The  box,  Ezra— the  box!"  he  cried  excitedly.  Bring  it  to  me. 
It  is  in  the  chest  yonder." 

His  son  hastened  to  execute  his  command,  and  soon  returned, 
bearing  in  his  arms  a  heavy  metal  box  about  two  feet  long.  The 
old  man  motioned  him  to  remove  a  key  from  the  chain  which  he 
wore  around  his  neck.  Having  done  so,  Ezra  proceeded  to  unlock 
the  strong  box,  which  he  placed  on  the  table  close  beside  the  bed. 
He  started  with  surprise  at  its  contents.  The  box  was  more  than 
half  filled  with  gold.  In  one  compartment  were  some  large  rolls  of 
manuscript  in  his  father's  hand  writing,  together  with  deeds, 
bonds,  contracts  and  other  documents. 

"See,"  said  the  old  man,  pointing  to  the  gold.  "All  this  I  have 
saved  for  my  children.  They  could  not  deprive  me  of  all.  Take 
care  of  it,  Ezra.  It  will  keep  the  little  one  from  want,  and  you 
will  need  a  good  sum  to  carry  out  your  plans;  the  papers  are  all 
here,  you  see.  Guard  them  as  you  would  your  life.  Rest  not,  day 
nor  night,  until  our  object  is  accomplished.  Do  not  give  up  the 
search.  He  will  return!  He  will  return!  He  cannot  escape  you 
for  long.  Pursue  him,  and  confront  him  with  these  proofs,  and 
claim  your  just  inheritance." 

The  old  man  was  for  a  moment  prostrated  by  the  intense  ex- 
citement which  gave  him  for  a  time  unwonted  strength.  He  gasp- 
ed for  breath,  and  a  deadly  pallor  overspread  his  face.  Ezra,  in 
alarm,  administered  a  large  dose  of  the  cordial  left  by  the  physician. 
Being  somewhat  restored  by  the  drug,  the  old  Hebrew  pointed  to  the 
roll  of  MSS. ,  saying  feebly,  '  'I  have  had  a  secret,  Ezra.  I  have  been 
writing  a  history  of  our  race.  I  have  dwelt  at  some  length  on  the 
condition  of  the  Jews  in  Russia,  and  the  Czar's  inhuman  tyranny. 
Finish  the  book,  Ezra,  and  when  you  can  have  it  printed,  circulate 
it  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land.     God  will  avenge 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  25 

our  wrongs  some  day,  for  He  is  just." 

Ezra  bowed  his  head,  promising  all  that  his  father  requested. 
The  old  man  continued,  'They  will  try  to  wean  you  from  your  re- 
ligion, but  forsake  not  the  faith  of  your  fathers',  my  son.  The 
time  will  come  when  our  race  will  be  restored  to  all  its  old  time 
honor  and  glory.  We  are  the  chosen  of  God,  and  though  now 
scattered  like  lost  sheep,  we  will  one  day  return  safely  to  the  fold, 
and  reinhabit  our  former  stronghold  in  the  East.  Pray  for  the 
speedy  arrival  of  that  day,  my  son,  pray  without  ceasing." 

There  was  a  change  in  his  face,  and  the  perspiration  stood  in 
large  drops  on  his  forehead.  The  watchers  knew  it  was  the  dew 
of  death.  His  breath  now  came  in  long  gasps,  and  his  chest  heav- 
ed painfully. 

"The  light  grows  dim.     Ezra— Miriam — farewell." 

He  stretched  out  his  hands,  and  turned  his  eyes  toward  the 
ceiling. 

"I  see  the  host  triumphant,"  he  exclaimed. 

His  hands  fell  back  listlessly  on  the  bed.  A  spasm  passed 
over  his  face,  and  then  it  gradually  settled  down  into  the  calm  of 
death. 

The  brother  and  sister  knelt  by  the  bed-side  for  a  few  moments, 
clasping  eachother's  hands.  Then  Ezra,  replacing  the  strong  box 
in  its  accustomed  place,  left  the  room,  returning  presently  with 
Beriah  Jacobusky. 

Mrs.  Branski  now  retired,  and  the  two  men  were  left  alone  to 
perform  their  office  for  the  dead.  They  conversed  fitfully  in  low 
and  awe-struck  tones  until  morning,  when  Jacobusky  took  his  leave. 


CHAPTER  X. 

After  the  funeral  David  was  sent  for.  The  child  was  deeply 
affected  by  his  grandfather's  death. 

His  spirits  drooped,  and  he  soon  began  to  lose  the  good  effects 
of  his  visit.  He  missed  the  old  man  sorely,  and  asked  his  mother 
many  questions  about  death  and  the  hereafter. 

A  talk  with  the  missionary  appeared  to  reconcile  him  some- 
what to  his  loss;  but  he  still  dwelt  upon  the  subject  to  such  an  ex- 
tent as  to  seriously  undermine  his  health.  Dorothy  and  the  mis- 
sionary paid  him  frequent  visits,  and  the  former  insisted  that  he 
should  return  to  her  house  and  remain  for  several  weeks.  David 
was  strangely  averse  to  this  proposition,  notwithstanding  he  had  so 
much  enjoyed  his  former  visit.  The  fact  that  his  grandfather  had 
died  during  his  absence,  seemed  to  make  him  shrink  from  leaving 
home;  so  the  project  was  abandoned.  A  physician  was  summoned, 
and  pronounced  the  boy  in  a  critical  condition;   advising  that  the 


26  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

utmost  pains  be  used  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  sad  thoughts 
so  unusual  for  a  child.  Consequently  Dorothy  saw  him  almost 
daily.  He  seemed  to  love  her  society  more  than  any  other. 
Mr.  Granby  or  Felix  Dayne  always  accompanied  her  on  her  visits. 
Frequently  Ezra  Zarowski  was  present.  He  was  always  respect- 
ful and  attentive,  but  still  maintained  his  dignified  reserve. 
Dorothy  began  to  wish  he  would  not  sit  so  much  in  the 
room  when  she  was  talking  with  David;  and  whenever  he  was 
absent  she  felt  relieved.  And  yet,  when  such  was  the 
case  he  was  more  than  ever  in  her  thoughts.  What  strange 
power  of  fascination  was  this?  She  shrank  from  it  with  all  the 
force  of  her  strong  will,  and  all  the  time  felt  that  she  was  powerless 
to  escape  the  infatuation.  What  was  the  secret  of  this  attraction? 
Sympathy,  and  an  indefinable  something  which  she  could 
not  analyze.  She  was  always  glad  when  Dayne  accompanied  her. 
She  felt  a  sense  of  security  in  his  presence— security  from  her  own 
disloyal  thoughts.  She  meant  to  be  true  to  him — true  to  her, vow, 
but  felt  more  and  more  that  she  had  been  deceived  in  her  estimate 
of  her-self.  The  feeling  she  entertained  for  Ezra  Zarowski  was 
gaining  too  great  a  mastery  over  her.  It  must  be  crushed— tram- 
pled under  foot.  She  seemed  in  the  midst  of  a  labyrinth  from  which 
she  felt  powerless  to  extricate  herself.  She  could  not  turn  a  deaf 
ear  to  the  pleadings  of  the  sick  child,  who  was  evidently  approach- 
ing his  end,  and  she  dreaded  the  long  hours  of  watching  in  that 
solemn  chamber  with  Ezra  Zarowski  so  near.  His  sad  face  haunt- 
ed her  day  and  night,  and  gave  her  no  rest.  Sometimes  suddenly 
raising  her  eyes,  she  would  encounter  the  fixed  gaze  of  the  Jew. 
He  seldom  spoke  to  her;  but  she  felt  that  nothing  she  said  or  did 
escaped  him.  There  was  a  mystery  about  this  man.  Something 
in  his  face  and  manner  told  her  that  some  shadow,  darker  than 
that  of  exile,  hung  over  his  life.  Sometimes  she  was  pained  by  his 
look  of  hopelessness.  What  was  the  character  of  the  sorrow  or  the 
sin  that  had  cast  this  blight  upon  him?  She  longed  for,  yet  dread- 
ed the  revelation  that  she  felt  would  one  day  come.  Mrs.  Branski 
could  not  bear  for  her  brother  to  leave  her.  She  clung  to  him  with 
an  intensity  of  devotion,  born  of  the  knowledge  that  every  other 
earthly  tie  would  soon  be  severed. 

One  evening  the  Death  Angel  seemed  hovering  over  the  strick- 
en household.  David  was  sleeping — he  scarcely  breathed;  and  his 
pale,  emaciated  face,  with  the  dark  circles  under  the  eyes,  looked 
as  if  the  spirit  had  already  deserted  its  earthly  tabernacle.  Mrs. 
Branski  and  Dorothy  sat  on  one  side  of  the  bed  and  Zarowski  on 
the  other;  while  the  missionary  knelt  at  the  foot,  in  fervent  prayer. 
When  Mr.  Granby  arose  from  his  knees,  he  observed  that  the  boy 
was  awake,  and  that  his  face  wore  a  sweet  smile. 

"Mr.  Granby,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  afraid  to  die.  Don't  let  my 
mother  grieve.    I  am  very  happy. "    He  slept  again.    Mrs.  Branski 


Under  Brazillian  Skise  27 

overcome  by  grief,  left  the  room.  Ezra  followed  her.  but  she  would 
not  allow  him  to  remain.  When  he  returned,  he  found  Dorothy- 
alone  with  the  boy,  the  missionary  having-  been  summoned  to  anoth- 
er part  of  the  city. 

The  two  silent  watchers  did  not  look  at  each  other  until 
the  child  again  awoke,  and  feebly  stretching  out  his  hands 
to  Dorothy,  said'  ''You're  so  good,  and  I  love  you  very  dearly.  I 
wish  Uncle  Ezra  loved  you,  too.  Then  he  would  believe  what  you 
say  about  the  Christ." 

Ezra  Zarowski  seemed  strangely  moved  by  the  boy's  words. 
He  gave  Dorothy  one  quick  look,  then  turned  away  his  face. 
She  turned  pale  to  the  lips,  and  sat  as  immovable  as  a  statue. 
The  child's  mind  now  began  to  wander,  and  he  spoke  occasionally 
in  broken  sentences.  Once  he  said  suddenly,  "There  she  is,  Uncle 
Ezra, —the  wicked  woman!  Send  her  away!   Send  her  away!" 

The  man  started  violently,  and  the  blood  mounted  to  his  fore- 
head. 

The  child  began  to  sob.  "They  have  carried  him  off ;— he  will 
never  come  back! — so  cold,  so  cold,  so  bitter  cold!"  He  shuddered. 
Dorothy  took  his  hand  and  spoke  to  him  gently.  She  soon  quieted 
him,  and  he  sank  into  a  deep  sleep,  from  which  he  never  awoke. 
His  breath  fluttered  out  so  quietly  that  the  watchers  did  not  know 
his  soul  had  fled,  until  life  had  been  for  sometime  extinct. 

Mr.  Granby  now  returned  for  Dorothy.  As  she  arose  to  depart 
she  stretched  out  her  hand  in  silent  sympathy  to  the  Jew.  He 
clasped  it  eagerly,  in  a  long  warm  pressure,  turned  away  without 
speaking,  and  then  thanked  the  missionary  for  his  kindness,  with 
much  feeling.  He  said  that  some  of  his  Jewish  friends  would  soon 
arrive,  and  render  all  necessary  assistance.  Mr.  Granby  and  Dor- 
othy accordingly  took  their  departure.  The  sorrow  they  had  just 
witnessed  rested  like  a  shadow  upon  them.  They  pursued  their 
way  in  silence  and  meditation,  scarcely  exchanging  a  dozen  sen- 
tences before  they  parted  at  Mr.  Holt's  gate. 


CHAPTER  XL 

One  sultry  afternoon  Dorothy  stood  alone  by  the  grave  of  Da- 
vid Branski.  Her  thoughts  were  far  from  earth,  and  so  absorbed 
was  she  that  she  did  not  observe  the  approach  of  a  man  until  he 
stood  beside  her  on  the  oppsite  side  of  the  grave. 

"What  sweet  flowers,"'  said  Zarowski.  "I  wonder  if  David 
knows  who  put  them  there." 

"Yes  I  believe  he  does,"  said  Dorothy. 

"Death  is  a  great  mystery.  But  we  are  surrounded  on  all 
sides  by  others,  as  deep,  and  baffling.     Can  we  ever  be  sure  of 


28  Under  Brazillian  Shies 

anything?  Before  I  met  you,  I  was  a  Hebrew  of  the  Hebrews;  be- 
lieving that  I  could  by  no  possibility  waver  from  the  faith 
of  my  fathers.  But  now  I  doubt  the  truth  of  all  I  have  been 
taught  from  my  earliest  childhood.  You  have  been  a  revelation  to 
me.  I  see,  I  feel,  the  divine  beauties  of  the  religion  I  once  dis- 
pised.  'Almost  thou  persuadest  me  to  be  a  Christian.'  Is  there 
any  comfort  in  your  religion  for  a  broken  heart?" 

' 'Come  and  see." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  deep  sadness  in  his  eyes. 

"I  know  not  what  Ararat  rises  for  me, 

Far  away  o'er  the  waves  of  the  wandering  sea; 

I  know  not  what  rainbow  may  yet  from  far  hills, 

Lift  the  promise  of  hope,  the  cessation  of  ills'." 

A  peal  of  thunder  shook  the  air.  Dark  clouds  were  gathering 
overhead.  Dorothy  extended  her  hand  to  the  Jew,  and  said  she 
must  hasten  home  immediately. 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  go  alone.  The  sky  is  threatening,"  he 
said.  '  'The  storm  will  overtake  you  long  before  you  reach  your 
destination." 

They  walked  on  for  some  distance  in  silence,  quickening  their 
pace  as  the  clouds  gathered  more  portentiously  overhead.  They 
were  not  far  from  Acclamation  Park,  famous  for  its  cascade  grotto, 
when  the  rain  began  to  fall.  As  this  grotto  offered  a  convenient 
shelter,  Zarowski  led  Dorothy  to  it,  and  they  made  themselves 
comfortable  on  the  rustic  seats  provided  for  visitors. 

"I  fear  this  storm  will  continue  till  dark,"  she  said,  some- 
what anxiously. 

'  'I  hope  not.  As  soon  as  it  clears  up  a  little  I  will  go  for  a 
carriage.     But  there  are  indications  of  a  severe  storm." 

Scarcely  had  he  finished  speaking,  when  a  blinding  flash  of 
lightning,  was  followed  by  a  terrific  peal  of  thunder.  Another 
flash.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  involuntarily  stretched  out 
her  arms  toward  the  Jew.  The  next  instant  they  dropped  to  her 
side;  but  not  before  he  had  seen  the  movement.  They  looked  at 
eachother,  and  the  speaking  eyes  of  Zarowski  revealed  the  pas- 
sionate love  his  lips  had  never  uttered.  She  sank  back  on  her  seat, 
and  he  stood  before  her  with  folded  arms. 

"Dorothy,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  love  you.  Struggle  as  I  may 
to  suppress — to  crush  this  passion,  it  has  gained  a  giant's  strength. 
It  is  a  white  heat  which  suffuses  every  thought,  every  emotion  of 
my  soul.  You  are  going  soon  away.  I  may  never  see  you  again. 
Even  now,  at  any  moment,  we  may  be  hurled  into  eterninty. 
Then  listen  to  me!  You  have  guessed,  I  am  sure,  that  some 
shadow  darker  than  exile  hangs  over  my  life.  That  shadow  is  the 
fetter  which  binds  me  to  a  woman  for  whom  I  feel  only  contempt 
and  hatred.  My  wife  is  an  exile  in  Siberia — banished  for  life,  and 
justly.     She  is  a  creature  unworthy  to  touch  the  hem  of  your  gar* 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  29 

ment.  She  has  wrecked  and  ruined  my  life  as  well  as  her  own. 
And  yet,  until  now,  I  have  not  cared  to  free  myself  from  this 
hateful  bondage.  Exiled  for  life  I  have  felt  that  she  could  not 
molest  me  further.  I  thought  my  heart  was  dead  to  love.  The 
idea  of  marriage  with  any  woman  has  long  been  repulsive  to  me. 
But— I  met  you.  There  is  no  other  woman  on  God's  earth  like  you, 
Dorothy!  At  first  I  fought  with  myself,  I  determined  I  would  not 
love  you.  But  I  could  no  more  help  loving  you  than  I  could  help 
loving  flowers  and  music  and  all  sweet  and  beautiful  things.  I  had 
lost  all  faith  in  women.  It  was  your  purity,  your  goodness,  your 
beautiful,  stainless  soul  that  compelled  my  love.  As  I  have  said, 
you  were  a  revelation  to  me." 

"Remember  that  your  wife  still  lives!" 

"Dorothy,  such  exile  is  civil  death.  She  is  wife  in  name  only. 
But  the  time  has  come  when  I  must  have  my  perfect  freedom. 
I  must  break  every  barrier  which  stands  between  you  and  me." 

'  'Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put  a- 
sunder." 

"I  endorse  that  with  all  my  heart.  God  did  not  forge  the 
chain  which  binds  me  to  that  woman,  any  more  than  He  has  plann- 
ed the  foulest  murder  which  was  ever  committed.  <  That  marriage 
was  the  work  of  man,  and  of  the  devil.  God  put  in  my  heart  the 
love  I  feel  for  you —the  beautiful,  holy  love  I  feel  for  you." 

"Mr.  Zarowski,  say  no  more,  I  will  not  listen  to  you." 

"You  will  not  listen  to  me?"  He  stood  before  her  looking 
down  into  her  eyes  with  a  smile  in  his  own. 

"Dorothy,  to-day  I  know  your  secret— I  know  that  you  love  me. 
I  read  the  story  in  your  beautiful  eyes,  I  hear  it  in  every  tone  of 
your  sweet  voice.  And  the  knowledge  is  the  very  breath  of  life  to 
me." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  with  imperious  jesture,  "Have  I  not  said 
that  I  will  not  listen  to  you?    Leave  mef 

"How  white  you  are!    Forgive  me,  sweet    Goodby. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Rio  de  Janeiro,  Brazil. 

June  15,  1891. 

Dear  Dorthy: 

"I  was  born  in  St.  Petersburg,  in  the  year  1850.  _  My  earliest 
recollections  are  of  a  happy  home,  where  my  young  life  was  spent 
in  quietness  and  contentment.  I  was  the  eldest  of  three  children, 
the  youngest  of  whom  died  before  he  had  reached  his  fifth  year. 


30  Under  Brazillian  Sides 

My  sister,  Miriam,  had  always  a  thoughtful,  melancholy  disposi- 
tion, but  she  was  sweet-tempered  and  affectionate,  and  her  devot- 
ed love  for  me  is  one  of  the  sweetest  recollections  of  my  life.  Our 
mother  died  when  we  were  quite  young,  and  we  were  left  to  the 
care  of  a  maiden  aunt,  who  was  so  indulgent  and  kind  that  we 
did  not  miss  our  mother's  care  as  we  otherwise  should  have  done. 
My  father  was  very  wealthy,  and  supplied  us  with  all  the  comforts 
and  luxuries  of  life.  He  was  fond  of  my  sister,  but  his  chief 
affections  were  centered  upon  me. 

"I  was  the  only  male  representative,  besides  himself,  of  the 
house  of  Zarowski;  I  was  carefully  educated,  and  when  I  had 
arrived  at  maturity  chose  literature  as  a  profession.  At  first  this 
was  up-hill  work,  but  at  last  my  efforts  were  rewarded  with  success, 
and  I  acquired  some  reputation  as  a  writer  of  fiction. 

"When  quite  young,  my  sister  married  David  Branski  a  dis- 
tant cousin  of  ours,  whom  she  had  loved  from  childhood.  Before 
his  marriage,  Branski  had  a  persistent  and  dangerous  rival  in  the 
person  of  Beriah  Jacobusky,  whose  consuming  and  over-mastering 
passion  for  my  sister  had  caused  her  no  little  anxiety  and  annoy- 
ance, since  he  was  of  a  fiery,  impulsive  disposition,  which  some- 
times led  him  to  commit  rash  deeds  upon  slight  provocation.  But 
he  truly  loved  my  sister,  and  this  love,  all  absorbing  as  it  was,  pre- 
vented him  from  wreaking  the  vengeance  on  his  rival  which  his 
fierce  and  wild  jealousy  prompted. 

"After  her  marriage  with  David  Branski,  Jacobusky  enlisted 
in  the  army;  and  for  many  years  we  lost  sight  of  him.  David  was 
a  kind  and  indulgent  husband,  and  he  and  Miriam  were  devotedly 
attached  to  each  other.  When  they  had  been  married  about  six  years, 
a  family  from  Moscow  located  in  our  neighborhood,  consisting  of  a 
Russian  gentleman  and  his  three  daughters.  The  eldest  of  these 
women  was  remarkably  beautiful,  and  from  the  hour  I  first  beheld 
her  I  was  her  devoted  admirer. 

"After  a  short  courtship  we  were  married,  and  I  took  her  to 
the  home  where  I  was  born,  and  where  I  subsequently  lived  during 
my  residence  in  St.  Petersburg. 

"My  wife's  family  were  in  reduced  circumstances,  and  she 
evidently  considered  that  she  had  made  a  very  desirable  match. 
I  fondly  believed  that  I  had  married  a  woman  as  noble  and 
good  as  she  was  beautiful,  and  cherished  the  hope  that  our  wedded 
life  would  be  rendered  happy  by  a  love  and  devotion  on  her  part 
equal  to  my  own.  But  alas!  I  was  quickly  and  cruelly  undeceived, 
and  learned  to  my  dismay,  that,  in  the  blind  haste  to  secure  a 
prize,  I  had  rushed  into  marriage  with  a  woman  utterly  without 
conscience  or  character;  and  who  did  not  hesitate  to  tell  me,  on 
the  slightest  provocation,  that  she  hated  me  with  all  the  bitterness 
of  a  concentrated  aversion;  and  had  only  married  me  to  secure  the 
wealth  she  so  much  coveted. 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  31 

"She  led  me  a  miserable  life,  and  her  presence  soon  became  as 
odious  to  me  as  mine  was  to  her.  I  chafed  beneath  the  galling 
fetters  of  the  chain  which  bound  me,  and  sought  consolation  and 
oblivion  in  a  life  of  excitement  and  dissipation;  which  I  pursued 
with  such  mad  recklessness  that  my  health  was  almost  shattered, 
and  I  was  advised  to  travel  abroad.  My  father,  alarmed  at  my 
condition,  accompanied  me,  and  my  wife  was  left  at  home  with 
only  my  poor  old  aunt  for  company.  But  she  was  too  fond  of  society 
and  admiration  to  pine  in  lonely  seclusion,  and  during  my  absence 
indulged  to  the  fullest  extent  her  taste  for  the  unlicensed  pleasures 
upon  which  my  father  s  presence  and  mine  had  imposed  some 
restraint. 

4  'But  to  return  to  ourselves. 

"We  traveled  extensively  on  the  continent  and  in  England, 
and  then  visited  the  United  States.  While  in  New  York  we  form- 
ed the  acquaintance  of  a  gentlemen  who  had  just  returned  from  a 
trip  to  South  America.  My  father  was  so  much  pleased  with  this 
man,  and  so  favorably  impressed  by  his  business  qualifications, 
that  he  was  induced  to  invest  the  greater  part  of  his  capital  in  a 
business  enterprise,  in  which  the  German  was  about  to  engage  in 
Rio.  Leaving  me  in  New  York  the  two  went  to  Brazil,  to  further 
investigate  matters.  The  German  remained  there,  and  my  father 
returned,  after  an  absence  of  three  months.  He  gave  glowing 
accounts  of  all  he  had  seen,  and  fully  expected  to  realize  an  in- 
dependent fortune  from  this  new  venture. 

"My  health  by  this  time  was  fully  restored,  and  as  we  had 
been  absent  from  home  nearly  a  year  we  concluded  to  return. 

"Upon  my  arrival  in  Russia,  I  learned,  for  the  first  time,  that 
my  wife  and  my  sister's  husband  had  been  condemned  to  a  life- 
long banishment  to  Siberia.  The  letter  bearing  this  intelligence 
for  some  reason  miscarried,  and  failed  to  reach  me;  so  I  was 
ignorant  of  the  situation  when  I  reached  home.  I  found  poor 
Miriam  utterly  crushed,  and  for  a  long  time  I  seriously  feared 
that  her  reason  would  desert  her.  I  learned  from  her  that  my 
wife  had  been  accused  of  some  political  intrigue,  and  also  of 
complicity  in  a  plot  against  the  life  of  the  Czar.  By  a  clever 
strategem  she  had  managed  to  implicate  poor  Branski  in  her  in- 
trigues, and  he  was  convicted,  receiving  the  same  sentence  of  exile 
as  herself. 

"I  also  learned  to  my  horror  that  this  wicked  woman  had 
formed,  during  my  absence,  a  passionate  attachment  for  Branski, 
and  had  used  every  means  in  her  power  to  lure  him  from  his  al- 
legiance to  my  sister,  but  in  vain.  In  her  rage  and  disappointment 
because  of  her  failure,  she  vowed  eternal  vengeance  against  him, 
and  declared  that  in  some  way  she  would  accomplish  his  ruin. 
This  malevolent  purpose  was  executed  in  the  way  I  have  related, 
and  my  sister  was  left  broken  hearted.     I  will  not  tire  or  shock 


32  Under  Brazillian  Sides 

you  by  entering  into  the  details  of  the  machinations  of  this  accurs- 
ed woman,  who  now  suffers  for  her  crimes  in  the  frozen  solitudes 
of  Siberia;  unless,  before  this,  she  has  been  called  to  give  an  ac- 
count at  the  judgement-seat  of  the  Great  Tribunal. 

"I  have  not  yet  told  you  that  shortly  before  all  this  occurred, 
Beriah  Jacobusky  returned  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  was  an  import- 
ant witness  in  the  trial  of  my  wife  and  Branski.  His  testimony 
was  the  strongest  evidence  against  them.  It  appears  he  _  had  been 
an  eye  witness  to  some  of  my  wife's  intrigues,  and  in  his  loyalty 
to  the  Emperor  had  informed  against  her,  notwithstanding  his 
friendship  for  me.  He  did  not  know  beforehand  that  Branski  was 
implicated,  but  my  sister  has  never  forgiven  him. 

"I  must  frankly  admit  that  the  banishment  of  my  wife  caused 
me  no  pain;  and  I  rejoiced  in  the  freedom  from  a  bondage  which 
had  grown  intolerable.  May  God  forgive  me  that  I  could  be  happy 
in  another's  misfortune,  but  He  alone  knows  the  terrible  suffering 
this  heartless  woman  has  caused  me. 

"For  many  years,  I  have  regarded  the  exile  system  as  cruel 
and  barbarous,  and  have  groaned  in  spirit  over  the  woes  of  my 
unhappy  countrymen.  So  many  are  banished  for  trifling  offences, 
and  some  are  as  innocent  of  the  crimes  imputed  to  them  as  new- 
born babes.  May  the  time  one  day  arrive  when  the  whole  civil- 
ized world  will  be  aroused  to  a  full  realization  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  suffering  which  this  system  imposes,  and  rise  up  in  arms  to 
overthrow  it.  Let  it  be  crushed  by  the  weight  of  the  righteous 
wrath  of  a  just  God!  Let  it  be  trampled  under  foot  by  the  marsh- 
alled hosts  of  all  nations  conbined!  And  may  a  more  reasonable 
and  humane  system  of  punishment  be  established,  than  the  present 
penal  code  of  a  country,  which  in  many  respects  holds  rank  with 
the  greatest  nations  on  the  globe.  May  the  Czar  and  all  the  great 
dignitaries  of  state  awake  to  a  realization  of  their  error,  before 
the  hand-writing  of  doom  appears,  and  the  rivers  run  red  with  the 
blood  of  slaughtered  thousands. 

"Forgive  this  digression,  but  I  feel  very  deeply  on  this 
subject;  and  listen  with  patience  to  the  remainder  of  my  story, 
which  now  approaches  its  conclusion: 

"You  are  acquainted  with  all  the  causes  which  led  to  the  late 
expulsion  of  the  Jews  from  Russia,  so  I  need  not  enter  mto  the 
particulars  of  a  subject  fraught  with  pain  to  me,  and  which  calls 
up  all  the  resentment  of  my  nature.  Suffice  it  to  say  that%  like 
thousands  of  our  race,  my  father  and  I  found  ourselves  adrift  in 
a  world,  which  sad  experience  had  taught  us,  we  need  not  expect 
to  find  a  bed  of  roses. 

"My  poor  aunt  was  now  dead;  so  with  my  sister  and  her 
child  we  came  to  this  country,  where  we  hoped  to  realize  a  com- 
petency from  the  funds  invested  by  my  father  in  the  business 
enterprise  of  his  New  York  friend.    But  misfortunes  have  follow- 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  33 

ed  each  other  in  quick  succession.  When  we  arrived  here  we 
found  that  Mr.  P.  had  been  dead  for  some  time;  and  our  investiga- 
tions convinced  us  that  we  had  never  received  our  proper  share  of 
the  dividends.  Mr.  P's  son,  who  now  has  control  of  the  business, 
I  find  to  be  unscrupulous,  and  indisposed  to  allow  us  our  jusl 
dues;  but  I  hope  soon  to  establish  our  claim,  and  make  demands 
which  he  will  find  it  impossible  to  refute. 

"My  father  thought  for  sometime  of  settling  in  the  United 
States.  He  spent  several  years  in  that  country  during  his  youth, 
and  was  greatly  pleased  with  its  free  institutions. 

"I  think  I  have  never  told  you  how  we  all  became  so  familiar 
with  the  English  tongue.  Father,  after  graduating  from  the 
University  of  St.  Petersburg,  took  a  post-graduate  course  at  Ox- 
ford, where  he  acquired  considerable  proficiency  in  English,  and  his 
knowledge  of  the  language  was  further  augmented  by  his  resi- 
dence in  the  United  States. 

'  'Upon  his  return  to  Russia  he  taught  a  class  in  English,  for 
several  years;  and  my  sister  and  I  were  instructed  in  this  language 
almost  from  our  infancy;  and  little  David  was  almost  as  familiar 
with  it  as  with  Russian. 

"My  father  always  cherished  the  hope  that  I  would  one  day, 
through  my  knowledge  of  English,  be  able  to  establish  a  literary 
reputation  on  this  side  of  the  sea;  and  I  admit  that  I  have  had 
similar  aspirations.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  realize  my  dream; 
but  that  will  depend  upon  many  things.  Somehow,  of  late,  I 
have  been  filled  with  gloomy  forebodings.  A  dark  cloud  is  hang- 
ing over  me,  which  shuts  out  the  sun.  I  seem  groping  blindly  in 
the  darkness.  If  you  would  only  stretch  out  your  hand  to  me,  and 
lead  me  to  the  light.  Ah!  Dorothy,  you  little  dream  how  great  is 
my  need  of  you.  You  cannot  conceive  what  a  blank  my  life  will 
be  without  you.  I  never  imagined  myself  capable  of  an  absorbing 
love  like  this.  The  fear  of  losing  you  lies  upon  my  heart  like  a 
leaden  weight. 

'  'As  long  as  I  buried  my  passion  in  my  own  breast  I  was  more 
courageous;  but  now  that  I  have  spoken — now  that  I  know  the 
state  of  your  heart — the  crushing  grief  that  consumes  you  as  well 
as  myself,  my  trouble  seems  greater  than  I  can  bear. 

"Dorothy  can  it  be  right  to  ruthlessly  wreck  such  lives  as 
ours,  all  on  account  of  a  mistake  committed  in  my  youth?  I  can 
not  believe  so.  The  tie  that  binds  me  may,  for  all  we  know,  have 
been  severed  by  death,  ere  this;  and  if  it  still  exsists,  the  law 
would  liberate  me.  I  shall  use  every  means  in  my  power  to  as- 
certain if  my  wife  be  still  alive. 

'  'At  least,  promise  me  to  wait  a  little  while  before  placing  be- 
tween us  the  barrier  of  your  own  marriage.  You  do  not  love  the 
man  you  are  to  wed.  Can  you  think  it  right  to  vow,  at  God's  altar, 
eternal  fidelity  to  him,  when  your  heart  is  given  to  another?    My 


31f  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

darling,  you  are  swayed  by  false  ideas  of  duty.  Consider  well  be- 
fore you  take  a  step  that  will  entail  upon  youa  lifetime  of  unhappi- 
ness.  No  man  of  honor  would  hold  you  to  your  promise  under  the 
circumstances.  Do  you  dream  that  you  could  render  him  happy? 
You  will  never  love  him,  Dorothy;  and  in  time  he  will  discover 
this  fact,  in  spite  of  your  every  effort  to  conceal  it.  There  are 
depths  in  your  nature  that  Felix  Dayne  can  never  fathom,  and  you 
will  feel  this  more  and  more.  I  implore  you  not  to  wreck  your 
happiness  and  mine  by  refusing  to  listen  to  me. 
'  'I  await  your  answer. 

"Yours  until  death, 

"Ezra  Zarowski." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

After  reading  Ezra  Zarowski's  letter  Dorothy  sat  for  a  long 
time  with  folded  hands  and  sad,  tearless  eyes.  In  this  reverie  she 
reviewed  her  whole  life,  and  looked  deep  into  her  heart.  She  felt 
that  she  had  never  really  loved  before,  that  the  love  of  her  youth 
compared  with  this  was  indeed  as  "moonlight  unto  sunlight' '  or  as 
"water  unto  wine."  Yet  what  could  she  do?  In  what  direction 
lay  her  duty? 

Could  she  crush  every  hope  of  him  who  so  truly  loved  her— so 
greatly  needed  her?  He  had  suffered  so  much  already.  Her  heart 
went  out  to  him  in  passionate  love  and  pity.  Ah!  if  she  might  only 
be  permitted  to  render  the  remainder  of  his  life  happy— his  life  so 
warped  and  broken— if  she  might  only  direct  his  faltering  faith  to 
the  true  source  of  all  light  and  joy.  How  her  heart  yearned  over 
him.  How  she  longed  to  help  him — and  yet,  could  she?  Could  she 
break  her  plighted  troth  to  one  who  trusted  her  entirely?  Could 
she  reconcile  herself  to  marry  a  man  who  sought  a  divorce  for  the 
purpose  of  making  her  his  wife?  She  shrank  from  such  an  idea 
with  the  repugnance  of  a  high-toned,  sensitive  woman.  And  yet 
suppose  he  were  already  free— how  her  heart  bounded  with  joy  at 
the  thought;  quickly  following  this  came  the  realization  of 
the  disappointment  that  would  blight  the  hopes  of  her  artist  lover. 
What  should  she  do?  She  fell  on  her  knees  and  buried  her  face  in 
her  hands.  Long  and  earnestly  she  prayed,  but  the  tumult  in  her 
heart  would  not  be  stilled.  She  arose  from  her  knees,  took  up  her 
writing  materials,  and  tried  to  collect  her  thoughts.  Sheet  after 
sheet  was  filled  with  her  small  hand-writing,  and  then  destroyed. 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  35 

At  last  she  penned  the  following  reply  to  the  letter  before  her: 

1  'I  can  only  say  good  bye, 

"Your  friend  always, 

"Dorothy  Holt. 
"Wednesday  eve,  June  15,  1891." 

The  next  afternoon  as  she  and  Felix  Dayne  were  walking  on 
the  shores  of  the  bay,  he  turned  to  her  and  said  abruptly: 

"Dorothy,  whrt  has  come  over  you  of  late?  You  look  positive- 
ly ill;  you  are  not  like  yourself;  there  are  times  when  I  believe  you 
regret  your  engagement  to  me." 

"And  if  it  be  so,  v/hat  would  you  think  of  me,  Felix?"  She 
raised  a  white,  imploring  face  to  his. 

"I  could  not  blame  you,  Dorothy.  I  could  only  blame  myself! 
You  told  me  in  the  beginning  that  you  did  not  love  me.  I  have 
been  trying  to  convince  myself  that  you  were  mistaken.  I  have 
signally  failed.  The  truth  has  been  dawning  upon  me  of  late  that 
you  are  unhappy,  that  our  engagement  is  the  cause  of  it. ' ' 

"I  have  tried  so  hard  to  love  you  Felix,  to  be  true  to  you,  and 
—I  cannot.  We  have  made  a  terrible  mistake.  Can  you  not  see 
it?"    His  face  was  deadily  white,  but  he  replied  calmly: 

"Yes,  Dorothy,  I  see,  and  my  heart  is  breaking.  Take  back 
your  freedom!  I  would  not,  for  a  thousand  worlds,  lead  you  to  the 
altar  an  unwilling  br*de. " 

"Felix,  forgive  me.     I  have  been  much  to  blame." 

"No!  No!  The  blame  all  rests  with  me.  I  simply  played  the 
fool,  and  deceived  myself.  I  have  lived  in  a  fool's  paradise,  shut- 
ting my  eyes  to  the  most  palpable  truth;  but  the  paradise  was  a 
world  of  bliss;  I  reveled  for  a  time  in  its  beauty,  and  did  not  note 
the  presence  of  the  serpent  until  it  stung  me. ' ' 

She  started,  and  glanced  quickly  up  into  his  face. 

"Dorthy,  you  might  have  loved  me  had  not  another  won  your 
heart.  I  see  how  it  all  is.  I  do  not  blame  you.  I  give  you  back  your 
freedom;  and  I  thank  you  for  giving  me  the  happiest  hours  of  my 
life.  My  happiness  was  brief,  but  the  memory  of  it  will  linger 
with  me  through  life.  And  now  goodbye.  I  wish  you  all  happi- 
ness in  your  love." 

'  'There  will  never  be  any  happiness  for  me,  Felix.  It  is  true 
that  I  love  and  am  beloved;  but  there  are  insurmountable  barriers 
in  the  way.  I  shall  never  marry  any  man.  Do  not  question  me. 
I  can  tell  you  no  more.  In  parting  let  me  say  this:  However  wide- 
ly separated  our  lives  may  be  I  shall  always  watch  over  your  career 
with  interest,  and  rejoice  in  your  every  success.  I  shall  always  be 
your  true  friend.     And  you— will  you  not  be  mine?" 

"I  shall  be  your  friend.  I  shall  love  you,  through  time  and 
through  eternity,"  said  Felix  Dayne. 


36  Under  Brazillian  Skies 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Late  in  the  autumn  Littlefield  took  Lillie  for  a  last  visit  to  the 
Passeo  Publico.  They  stood  for  some  time  on  the  marble  prome- 
nade, and  watched  the  play  of  the  moonlight  on  the  water. 

'  "This  reminds  me  of  the  night  I  first  saw  Zarowski,"  said  Lit- 
tlefield. "He  was  supporting  his  aged  father,  and  I  was  struck  by 
his  personal  appearance.  My  interest  in  him  has  increased  with 
every  subsequent  meeting;  but  he  is  an  enigma  to  me.  What  do 
you  think  of  him,  Lill  Fair  Fair?" 

"I  don't  rave  over  him,  like  the  rest  of  you.  He  is  too  dark 
and  sober  to  suit  my  fancy.    I  don't  like  people  who  never  smile." 

"You  mean  who  never  smile  on  you,  Miss  Vanity.  I  will 
wager  a  good  deal  that  Miss  Dorothy  has  s§en  him  smile.  Ask  her 
if  she  has  not. " 

"Dorothy  dosn't  like  Mr.  Zarowski;  she  always  avoids  him." 
Littlefield  smiled. 

'  'You  women  pride  yourselves  on  your  perspicuity  in  affairs  de 
coeur,  but  in  this  case,  even  I,  though  afflicted  with  the  short-sight- 
edness imputed  to  my  sex,  have  the  advantage  of  you.  For  once 
your  judgement  is  in  error."' 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  Miss  Dorothy  is  by  no  means,  as  indfferent  to  the 
Jew  as  you  suppose.  Do  you  know  that  she  has  broken  her  en- 
gagement with  Dayne?" 

"Yes,  she  has  told  me.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with  Mr.  Zaro- 
wski?" 

1  'More  than  you  think,  perhaps.  I  have  seen  for  some  time 
how  affairs  were  drifting.     Poor  Dayne  is  badly  done  up." 

Lillie  faced  him  with  a  look  of  surprise  and  indignation  on  her 
face. 

'  'Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Dorothy  prefers  this  Jew  to  Mr. 
Dayne?" 

"You  will  admit  that  Zarowski  is  attractive.  One  cannot  help 
observing  what  takes  place  under  ones  very  eyes." 

"And  pray,  what  have  those  Argus  eyes  of  yours  observed?  I 
believe  you  always  sleep  with  one  eye  open." 

"I  did  in  the  Montana  at  any  rate." 

"0,  the  dear  old  forest,"  said  Lillie,  her  thoughts  flying  back 
to  the  merry  life  in  the  tents  on  the  Amazon.  "Some  time  we  shall 
visit  it  again,  I  hope." 

"When  you  are  Mrs.  Littlefield  you  may  go  whenever  you 
like,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  37 

"Promises  are  like  pie-crust.  A  man  will  promise  anything  to 
the  woman  he  wishes  to  marry." 

"Of  course!  otherwise  no  woman  would  ever  marry  him." 

"I  don't  deny  that;  but  he  ought  to  fulfil  his  promises." 

"That  would  be  an  easy  matter!  I,  at  least,  shall  fulfil  all  of 
mine,  particularly  the  one  I  have  just  made." 

"All  right,  I  shall  expect  to  spend  half  of  my  time  in  the  Mon- 
tana, so  you  may  as  well  make  up  your  mind  to  turn  bark  hunter." 

"Well,  I  shall  not  object  to  that.  It  is  a  very  agreeable  occu- 
pation, and  my  recent  experience  will  serve  me  in  good  turn.  I 
expect  to  amass  an  immense  fortune  in  this  way." 

"If  you  do  you  will  want  to  leave  the  Montana.  There  will  be 
no  opportunity  to  spend  your  fortune  there." 

"0,  we  shall  only  spend  part  of  each  year  in  the  forest.  We 
shall  own  a  yacht,  and  go  whenever  we  please,  and  wherever  our 
fancy  leads." 

"I  see!  And  when  you  tire  of  me  you  can  get  rid  of  me  by  or- 
dering the  captain  to  scuttle  the  boat." 

"No,  that  would  not  do,  for  in  that  case  I  too,  might  be  drown 
ed.     You  are  such  a  tiny  creature  I  could  easily  toss  you  overboard. 

"Easier  said  than  done,"  she  laughingly  replied. 

"Lillie,  will  you  marry  me?    I  love  you." 

"Mr.  Littlefield,  you  are  perfectly  exasperating!  Do  be  serious. " 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life.     And  I  repeat,  I  love 


i  > 


you. 


H 


"] 
« '1 


'How  much?" 

'I  love  you  immeasureably." 

"Mr.  Littlefield-" 

"Well?" 

"Tell  me  how  much." 

"As  much  as  you  love  me." 

'  'You  are  decidedly  the  most  impertinent  and  conceited  man  a- 
live,"  she  said  with  a  blush  and  a  pout. 

"Lillie,  I  love  you.     Will  you  marry  me?" 

"No!  most  decidedly,  no!" 

"Lillie  you  love  me.    Will  you  marry  me?" 

"Havn't  I  answered  you?" 

"Come  to  my  arms,  darling,  your  place  is  here." 

She  did  not  move  or  answer,  but  stood  before  him  with  down- 
cast eyes. 

"Praying  all  I  can, 
If  prayers  will  not  hush  thee, 

Airy  Lillian, 
Like  a  rose  leaf  I  will  crush  thee, 

Fairy  Lillian." 

He  deliberately  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"Mr.  Littlefield,  I  hate  you!" 


38  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

1  'Forgive  me,  sweetheart.  But  positively  you  looked  so  sweet 
and  beautiful  that  I  couldn't  help  it." 

She  flashed  an  indignant  look  at  him. 

"Look  here,  Lillie!  A  man  is  not  made  of  stone.  If  I  did  not 
love  you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul,  and  aiso  if  I  did  not  expect  to 
make  you  my  wife,  I  should  not—" 

"What  right  have  you  to  say  that  I  love  you?  Did  I  ever  tell 
you  so?" 

1  'Tell  me  now,  then,  'Whisper  softly,  whisper  low, '  do  you 
love  me?" 

He  bent  his  handsome  head  close  to  her  ear,  and  looked  into 
her  eyes  with  the  most  ardent  love-light  in  his  own.  "Tell  me 
truly,  sweetheart,  do  you  love  me?" 

"What  is  the  use  of  speaking?    You  are  so  sure  of  it  already." 

The  pout  had  disappeared  from  the  ruby  lips,  and  a  subdued 
and  happy  light  shone  in  the  soft  blue  eyes. 

"Just  because  I  want  to  hear  those  sweetest  lips  in  all  the 
world  say  the  words,  I  love  you." 

"Bend  your  head  a  little  lower  then." 

He  stcoped  until   his  dark  curls  touched  her  golden  tresses, 

"Cyrus,  I  love  you." 

"Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

Her  answer,  spoken  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  caused  a  wave 
of  joy  that  almost  swept  Cyrus  Littlefield  off  his  feet. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Dorothy  sat  alone  on  the  veranda,  awaiting  the  return  of  her 
cousin.  Her  heart  was  oppressed  by  deep  sadness.  She  was 
going  away  on  the  morrow  and  had  written  a  note  of  farewell  to 
Zarowski.  She  felt  that  she  had  in  all  probability  looked  her  last 
upon  his  face.  To-night,  more  than  ever  before,  she  realized  how 
completely  her  heart  was  his.  She  knew  not  how  long  she  had 
sat  on  the  veranda,  perfectly  still  and  buried  in  deep  thought, 
when  she  was  startled  by  hearing,  not  far  off,  a  stifled  groan. 
Looking  quickly  in  the  direction  whence  it  proceeded,  she  saw  the 
figure  of  a  man,  leaning  against  a  tree  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street.  She  got  up  and  leaned  on  the  railing  of  the  veranda.  As 
she  did  so  a  flood  of  moonlight  fell  over  her,  and  the  figure  under 
the  tree  quickly  crossed  the  street,  and  in  another  moment  stood 
almost  beneath  her.  Long  before  he  spoke  she  had  recognized 
Ezra  Zarowski. 

"Stand  as  you  are,  Dorothy,"  he  said  beseechingly.  "I  could 
not  let  you  go  without  seeing  you  again,  at  least  for  a  moment. 
You  have  no  pity  for  me.     You  do  not  care  for  my  suffering.     You 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  39 

can  leave  me  with  only  a  few  written  words  of  farewell,  while  I 
have  been  consumed  with  the  dcs're  to  see  you,  if  only  to  receive 
from  you i-  lips  a  fresh  sentence  of  banishment." 

His  words  and  the  haggard  look  on  his  face,  went  to  her  heart. 
She  trembled  in  every  limb,  and  every  particle  of  color  deserted 
her  face.  This  parting  seemed  to  tear  her  very  heart  asunder, 
and  yet  she  did  not  waver  in  her  decision.  As  soon  as  she  could 
steady  her  voice  she  said,  "I  wished  to  spare  you — to  spare  myself 
— this  pain.  Do  not  intensify  the  sadness  of  the  situation  by  re- 
proachful words  or  thoughts.  In  your  heart  you  do  not  believe 
what  you  say.     You  know  me  too  well  for  that." 

The  Jew  had  not  taken  his  eyes  from  her  face,  and  her  pallor 
and  tremor  did  not  escape  him.     He  relented  somewhat. 

* 'Dorothy,  is  it  that  you  are  so  much  stronger  then  I,  or  is 
your  love  less  deep  and  consuming?  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  that 
you  could  leave  me  thus,  if  you  cared  for  me  as  I  for  you.  No 
power  on  earth  could  make  me  give  you  up,  except  your  own  in- 
flexible resolve.  You  have  hardened  your  heart  to  my  appeals, 
and  pretend  to  think  you  are  doing  right.  'Let  woman  beware  how 
she  plays  fast  and  loose  thus  with  human  despair.'  " 

"I  cannot  leave  you  in  that  bitter  mood,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 
"Came  up  here  and  let  me  talk  to  you."  He  was  by  her 
side  in  a  moment,  and  she  gave  him  her  hand.  He  held  it  in  both 
of  his,  and  pressed  it  to  his  heart.  She  withdrew  it  gently,  and 
sank  into  a  low  chair,  motioning  him  to  a  seat  by  her  side;  but  he 
shook  his  head,  and  stood  leaning  on  the  railing  of  the  veranda, 
looking  at  her. 

"Well,"  he  said  presently,  "what  have  you  to  say  to  me?" 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  master  her  emotions  sufficiently  to 
speak.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "Dorothy,"  he 
said  passionately,  "the  struggle  is  useless.  You  cannot  give  me 
up.  You  are  breaking  your  own  heart  as  well  as  mine.  There  is 
yet  time  to  relent.     There  is  yet  time—" 

"Spare  me!"  she  cried  imploringly.  "Do  not  force  me  to  repeat 
what  it  pains  you  to  hear  me,  to  utter.  You  once  said  that  so  long 
as  you  possessed  my  love  you  could  bear  anything.  Know 
that  my  love  is  unchangeable,  that  however  widely  severed  our 
lives  may  be,  I  shall  always  keep  your  image  in  my  heart.  I  shall 
expect  you  to  be  strong  and  brave." 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  but  kept  his  dark  eyes  riveted 
upon  her  face.  "Dorothy,"  he  said  presently,  it  is  useless  to  talk 
to  you.  I  see  I  shall  not  be  able  to  change  your  resolve.  So  be  it. 
We  must  part.     It  remains  then  only  for  me  to  say  goodbye. ' ' 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  arose  and  placed  hers  in  it.  "You 
know  that  I  love  you?    You  forgive  me?"  she  asked  tremblingly. 

"Yes,"  he  said  hoarsely.  He  stooped  and  pressed  one  long 
kiss  on  her  lips,  and  the  next  moment  was  gone. 


40  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

Littlefield  and  Lillie,  coming  in  a  few  minutes  afterwards, 
found  Dorothy  lying  upon  the  floor  entirely  unconscious.  It  was 
some  time  before  she  could  be  restored,  and  she  looked  so  ghastly 
pale  that  Lillie  was  in  an  agony  of  alarm.  Upon  regaining  con- 
sciousness she  smiled  at  her  cousin's  tears,  and  declared  that  the 
attack  was  nothing  serious— only  a  slight  swoon— and  that  she 
should  soon  be  herself  again.  No  one  ever  knew  she  had  seen 
Zarowski  that  night. 

The  next  morning  saw  them  all  safely  embarked  on  the  home- 
ward voyage. 

As  the  last  traces  of  Rio  faded  from  sight  Lillie  could  not  re- 
press a  few  tears.  Littlefield  laughed  at  her,  and  threatened  to  kiss 
the  tears  away  before  all  the  passengers  if  she  any  longer  permit- 
ted herself  to  indulge  in  such  weakness.  Dorothy  sat  pale  and  calm. 
Her  heart  felt  like  a  leaden  weight  in  her  bosom.  For  once  Felix 
Dayne  did  not  observe  her,  though  she  sat  not  far  from  where  he 
stood  leaning  against  the  ship's  railing.  His  thoughts  still  linger- 
ed in  the  fair  land  he  was  leaving  behind.  He  felt  that  he  had 
looked  his  last  on  the  bay  and  mountains  and  other  picturesque 
beauties  of  Rio  de  Janeiro.  The  world  was  wide,  and  the  heights 
of  fame  were  steep  and  difficult  to  climb.  He  must  not  look  back- 
ward, but  press  on  toward  the  goal. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Mrs.  Branski  sat  alone  in  her  cozy  sitting  room  one  after- 
noon late  in  September.  On  her  lap  was  a  worn  copy  of  the  Talmud, 
and  so  deeply  absorbed  was  she  in  its  contents  that  she  did  not 
hear  the  ring  of  the  door-bell  until  it  was  twice  repeated.  Her 
visitor  was  Beriah  Jacobusky.  He  entered  the  room  a  little  doubt- 
fully, as  though  not  sure  of  his  welcome.  He  felt  restless  and  ill 
at  ease,  and  hesitated  how  he  should  address  this  cold  and  self- 
possessed  woman  who  took  so  little  notice  of  his  presence.  After 
a  moment  of  awkard  silence,  he  remarked: 

1 'It  gives  me  great  joy  to  see  that  book  in  your  hand.  The 
faith  of  my  fathers  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life,  and  I  have  been  fear- 
ful that  influence  would  be  brought  to  bear  which  would — " 

He  hesitated  and  looked  at  her  doubtfully. 

"Our  religion  cannot  be  dearer  to  you  than  to  me,"  she  said 
calmy.  "The  faith  of  my  childhood  has  attained  too  strong  a 
growth  ever  to  be  uprooted.  It  is  planted  deep  in  my  heart;  noth- 
ing can  touch  or  change  it. ' ' 

"Thank  God,"  said  Beriah  devoutly.  After  a  moment  of 
silence  he  continued,  "Your  brother's  apostasy  has  grieved  me  be- 
yond measure.    To  think  that  he,  my  friend,   from  whom  I  had 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  J^l 

hoped  such  great  things— he  who  was  once  a  Hebrew  of  the  He- 
brews, should  have  been  influenced  by  these  miserable  Christians 
to  espouse  their  religion,  and  desert  the  work  his  father  had 
planned  for  him.     It  is  incomprehensible." 

"You  do  him  injustice,  I  assure  you.  If  you  refer  to  the  his- 
tory of  our  race  which  my  father  began  and  requested  Ezra  to 
complete,  you  are  under  a  false  impression.  My  brother  will  be- 
begin  work  on  that,  as  soon  as  our  plans  are  settled.  I  will  not 
attempt  to  conceal  that  I  am  deeply  grieved  because  of  Ezra's 
apostasy;  but  I  do  him  the  justice  to  believe  that  he  is  perfectly 
sincere  in  his  changed  convictions.  It  was  not  without  a  struggle 
that  he  relinquished  his  old  faith.  So  infatuated  is  he  with 
Christianity  that  he  says  he  will  never  be  content  until  he  sees  me 
a  proselyte  also.     But  that  he  will  never  see." 

"I  have  done  you  injustice,"  said  Beriah  with  a  smile.  "I 
might  have  known  that  you  would  be  as  inflexible  in  your  religion 
as  in  every  other  thing.  Your  love,  your  hate,  your  resolves 
never  know  change.     Am  I  not  right?" 

"My  love  is  unchangeable,  surely,  and  I  believe  that  I  am 
quite  resolute;  but  I  am  not  aware  that  I  hate  any  one." 

||Not  even  me?" 

"Oh,  no!    My  dislike  never  deserved  the    name  of  hatred. 

And  I  do  not  now  dislike  you.  I  now  believe  that  you  are  innocent 
of  all  intended  injury  to  my  husband;  and  I  have  long  since  for- 
given.    But—" 

"0  Miriam,  I  have  longed  for  this  confession!  It  is  like  a 
draught  of  water  to  a  thirsty  man.  But  I  also  forgive  you.  All 
your  coldness,  your  indifference,  your  injustice  cannot  extinguish 
my  love  for  you,  which  but  burns  the  brighter  as  I  constantly 
witness  all  your  loyal  devotion  to  the  dead." 

"My  husband  lives, "  said  Mrs.  Branski  in  a  low,  firm  voice, 
looking  Beriah  full  in  the  face.  "He  lives;  and  I  cannot,  and 
will  not  listen  to  your  protestations  of  love  again. ' ' 

Jacobusky  turned  white  to  the  lips. 

"This  is  a  delusion,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "There  is  every  evi- 
dence that  he  and  your  brother's  wife  perished  with  others  of  our 
race  in  the  removal  from  the  Tomsk  forwarding  prison  to  Irkutsk. 
You  only  say  this  in  order  to  be  rid  of  me.     I  understand." 

"You  are  mistaken.  Listen,  and  I  will  convince  you  that  this 
is  no  fabrication,  and  no  chimera  of  the  brain. 

"My  brother  received  a  letter  yesterday  from  a  friend  in  St. 
Petersburg.  This  gentleman  has  made  diligent  search  and  inquiry, 
and  has  discovered  that  Ezra's  wife  has  been  dead  for  more  than 
a  year.  He  himself  visited  her  grave,  and  sent  us  a  physician's 
certificate  of  her  death.  The  same  letter  bore  the  welcome  intel- 
ligence that  my  husband  still  lives.  Mr.  Gomanoff  has  seen  and 
conversed  with  him.    His  health  is  much  shattered;  but  thank  God, 


If2  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

he  still  lives!  And  best  of  all,  Mr.  Gomanoff  is  very  influential, 
and  has  the  confidence  of  the  Czar;  he  will  use  his  influence  to  ob- 
tain pardon  for  my  husband.  I  know  he  will  succeed.  I  have  not 
felt  so  happy  for  years. " 

As  she  turned  to  Jacobusky  and  saw  the  look  of  suffering  in 
his  face,  the  light  faded  from  her  own. 

"Beriah,  you  cannot  rejoice  with  me  in  my  new-found  happi- 
ness. Ah,  well!  some  day  I  hope  you  may  become  reconciled  to 
your  disappointment,  and  wed  some  good  woman  who  will  love 
you  as  I  never  could.  I  forgive  you  fully,  and  have  every  good 
wish  for  your  welfare.     Are  we  friends  at  last?" 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  He  looked  at  it  in  a  dazed  way, 
as  though  not  half  comprehending  what  she  was  saying.  She 
sighed  as  she  turned  away.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  un  j  ust  to  this 
man,  and  longed  to  say  some  comforting  word  at  parting.  In  a  low 
and  timid  voice  she  referred  to  their  childhood,  their  friendship, 
and  their  estrangement.  He  spoke  not  a  word,  and  she  never 
knew  whether  he  understood  half  she  said.  She  begged  him  to 
forgive  her  injustice,  and  accept  her  friendship.  He  slowly  took 
her  proffered  hand,  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  staggered  from  the 
room.  She  never  saw  him  again.  He  was  found  next  morning 
on  the  pavement  beneath  her  window  with  a  bullet  through  his 
brain.     A  tragic  end  to  a  tragic  life. 

That  night  Ezra  Zarowski  stood  for  many  hours  on  the  marble 
promenade  fronting  the  Bay  of  Rio.  The  twinkling  lights  in  the 
harbor,  >  the  glitter  of  the  moonlight  on  the  water,  the  island 
mountains  crowned  by  picturesque  cottages  formed  a  scene  of  fairy- 
like beauty,  upon  which  the  Jew  gazed  with  a  dreamy  delight. 
As  he  stood  there  alone,  long  after  the  promenade  was  quiet  and 
deserted,  he  reviewed  his  whole  life,  with  its  early  sunlight  and 
subsequent  shadow. 

At  last,  after  so  many  years  of  misfortune  and  calamity,  he 
was  about  to  realize  a  greater  success  and  prosperity  than  his 
imagination  had  ever  pictured. 

He  was  now  able  to  establish  his  claim  to  an  inheritance  of 
wealth  which  had  accumulated  for  years,  until  it  had  reached  an 
almost  fabulous  sum.  All  at  once,  it  seemed  to  him,  God  had 
rained  down  blessings  upon  him  far  beyond  his  deserts. 

He  was  free  at  last.  He  felt  as  wildly  exultant  as  a  Galley 
slave  might,  who  after  years  of  bondage  had  obtained  his  liberty. 

Far  away  across  the  water  love  and  bliss  awaited  him.  He 
stood  in  a  happy  reverie,  picturing  Dorothy  as  he  saw  her  last, 
and  as  he  should  see  her  again  some  day,  some  glad,  sweet  day. 

The  hours  flew  by  unheeded.  As  he  turned  his  footsteps 
homeward  he  noticed  that  the  night  had  passed,  and  the  dawn  of 
a  new  day  empurpled  the  East.  He  hailed  it  as  the  type  of  his 
life,  and  felt  supremely  happy  and  thankful. 


Under  Brazillian  Skies 


h3 


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IS 


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B 


kk  Under  Brazillian  Skies 


Sty?  ijmnti  nf  £>m\t\x  Mtmntmm. 

I  will  open  this  story  with  the  statement  that  I  am  a  physician, 
and  have  been  engaged  in  active  practice  for  twenty  years.  Two 
years  ago  I  became  interested  in  the  "new  psychology,"  and  have 
since  taken  special  interest  in  those  cases  which  have  baffled  the 
ordinary  practitioner.  My  experience  has  taught  me  that  there 
are  many  so-called  incurable  physical  disorders  which  are  amen- 
able to  treatment  only  through  the  mind;  and  I  unhesitatingly  ex- 
press the  opinion  that  no  man  can  meet  with  any  remarkable 
success  in  the  practice  of  medicine  who  is  not  a  metaphysician. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  and  peculiar  cases  of  physical  dis- 
order produced  by  a  mental  condition  came  under  my  observation 
shortly  after  I  became  interested  in  the  occult  sciences. 

I  relate  my  experience  with  little  expectation  that  the  public 
will  credit  me  with  veracity.  However,  the  public  is  an  unknown 
quantity.  There  may  be  a  few  persons  of  inquiring  mind,  who 
having  delved  into  the  profundities  of  psychic  phenomena  will  find 
at  least  a  passing  interest  in  this  narrative. 

Late  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  18—  while  crossing  the  South 
Mountains  of  Western  North  Carolina  on  horse-back,  I  was  over- 
taken by  one  of  those  terrific  storms  which  sometimes  sweep 
down  with  tornado-like  violence  in  this  locality.  I  was  alone,  ex- 
cept for  the  companionship  of  my  horse.  As  far  as  eye  could 
reach  stretched  the  wild  solitudes  of  the  mountains,  over  which 
hung  black,  threatening  clouds.  Night  was  rapidly  approaching, 
and  soon  descended  with  pitchy  blackness.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents, 
the  wind  howled  most  dismally,  flash  after  flash  of  lightning  was 
followed  by  most  terrific  peals  of  thunder,  until  the  very  earth 
seemed  to  quake  beneath  my  feet. 

Night  and  darkness  and  storm,  with  no  shelter  near,  and  only 
my  trusty  steed  for  company.  I  was  miles  from  any  human  hab- 
itation, or  such  was  my  belief,  when  my  attention  was  attracted  by 
the  faint  glimmer  of  a  light  in  the  distance.  Guided  by  the  steady 
gleam  I  cautoiusly  directed  the  footsteps  of  my  horse  toward  it, 
not  knowing  whence  it  proceeded  or  whither  it  would  lead  me. 
Upon  nearer  approach  I  found  the  light  to  gleam  from  the  window 
of  a  rude  mountain  cabin  built  of  logs.    At  once  it  flashed  upon 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  U5 

me  that  this  was  the  abode  of  the  "hermit  of  South  Mountains," 
concerning  whom  there  were  various  and  mysterious  rumors  afloat 
in  Burke  county. 

About  ten  years  previous  to  the  opening  of  this  story  a  very 
eccentric  character  had  located  in  this  vicinity.  He  had  paid  his 
hotel  fare  in  advance,  refused  to  register  or  to  tell  his  name,  and 
had  at  once  made  known  his  intention  to  purchase  a  small  tract  of 
land  as  remote  as  possible  from  human  habitation,  where  he 
purposed  locating.  He  built  him  a  rude  log  cabin  among  the 
mountains,  where  he  had  lived  all  these  years  in  the  strictest  se- 
clusion. When  he  went  to  the  nearest  town  for  his  mail  he  was 
always  incognito,  assuming  various  disguises  to  avoid  recognition. 
Upon  one  occasion  he  had  confided  to  his  only  friend  in  Burke 
county  that  years  ago  he  had  registered  a  solemn  vow  never  to 
speak  to  another  woman. 

A  story  was  abroad  that  a  traveler,  overtaken  by  a  storm,  had 
sought  refuge  at  the  hermit's  cabin.  Before  retiring,  the  recluse 
had  told  his  guest  not  to  be  alarmed  should  he  hear  any  mysterious 
noises  in  the  night,  such  as  the  opening  and  shutting  of  doors.  He 
then  explained  that  it  was  his  nightly  habit  to  walk  among  the 
mountains  from  twelve  to  two  o'clock,  through  all  weathers. 

Excited  by  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  the  traveler  had  found 
it  quite  impossible  to  sleep.  The  storm  was  making  wild  havoc 
without.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  and  the  spirits  of  the  night 
seemed  to  be  holding  a  sort  of  demoniac  carnival.  At  last  the 
traveler  fell  into  a  light  slumber,  from  which  he  was  aroused  by 
the  creaking  of  a  door.  Scarcely  believing  it  possible  that  the 
hermit  would  voluntarily  subject  himself  to  the  danger  of  facing 
such  a  storm,  the  traveler  opened  the  shutters  of  his  window  and 
peered  out  into  the  darkness.  A  vivid  flash  of  lightning  revealed 
the  figure  of  the  man  pacing  slowly  to  and  fro,  at  a  distance  of  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  cabin. 

This  digression  has  been  necessary  in  order  to  give  the  reader 
some  idea  of  the  character  of  the  man  whose  home  I  was  about  to 
enter. 

On  the  night  in  question  I  sprang  from  my  horse,  knocked 
loudly  on  the  door,  and  in  a  few  moments  a  figure  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

"Did  I  hear  a  knock?  Who  goes  there?  Ah,  a  refugee,  from 
the  storm!  Come  in  sir,  you  are  welcome  to  what  accommodation 
I  can  give  you.  Pray  be  seated."  And  he  placed  a  chair  for  me 
before  a  bright  crackling  wood  fire,  which  roared  up  the  huge,  old- 
fashioned  chimney,  and  threw  a  ruddy  glow  across  the  worm-eaten 
timber  of  the  room. 

When  I  introduced  myself  as  Dr.  Danforth  of  Asheville,  he 
began  to  study  my  countenance  with  a  curious  attention.  I  return- 
ed the  compliment  with  interest,   and  saw  before  me  a  man  still  in 


It.6  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

the  prime  of  life,  whose  face  was  seamed  and  wrinkled,  and  over- 
spread with  an  almost  ghastly  pallor.  His  dark  eyes  were  sunken, 
and  their  expression  conveyed  to  my  practiced  eye  some  mental 
disorder  which  his  whole  appearance  thoroughly  corroborated. 
After  studying  me  closely  for  a  few  moments  he  exclaimed:  "You 
are  a  physician,  and  you  see  that  I  am  dying.  I  am  dying  from  an 
incurable  disease  of  the  heart,  It  is  only  a  question  of  a  very  short 
time  when  my  heart  will  be  completely  petrified  and  I  shall  cease 
to  breathe.  Even  now,  it  feels  like  a  lump  of  stone  in  my  breast. 
Put  your  finger  on  my  wrist  and  you  will  be  convinced  that  I  speak 
the  truth." 

I  felt  his  pulse  as  he  requested.  It  was  quick,  weak,  and  irreg- 
ular. After  making  a  careful  examination  I  assured  him  that  he 
had  no  organic  heart  disease,  that  the  affection  of  the  heart  was 
only  sympathetic,  being  superinduced  by  the  neuresthenia  from 
which  he  was  suffering.  He  listened  attentively  to  my  diagnosis 
of  his  case,  then  shook  his  head,  and  said  with  a  faint  flicker  of  a 
smile: 

1  'No  doctor  on  earth  can  deceive  me.  My  heart  is  turning  to 
stone,  literally  turning  to  stone.'* 

Perceivng  clearly  that  my  patient  was  a  victim  of  delusional 
insanity,  I  knew  that  nothing  I  could  say  would  change  the  fixed 
idea  implanted  in  his  mind.  I  saw  that  his  mental  condition  had 
produced  such  serious  physical  disease  that  death  was  in  reality 
imminent  unless  relief  could  be  found. 

Knowing  that  there  is  never  an  effect  without  a  cause,  I  began 
to  question  my  patient  concerning  his  past  life,  hoping  that  I  might 
find  some  clue  which  would  unravel  all  this  mystery.  In  reply  to 
my  questions  he  merely  shook  his  head,  obstinately  refusing  to 
give  any  satisfactory  answer. 

Suddenly  he  drew  his  chair  directly  in  front  of  me,  extended 
his  arm  and  looked  at  me  steadily. 

"Here,  put  your  hand  on  my  wrist,"  said  he,  "look  deep  into 
my  eyes  and  you  will  be  able  to  read  my  whole  history." 

Merely  to  gratify  what  I  supposed  to  be  his  insane  fancy,  I  did 
as  requested.  And  now  follows  the  strangest  part  of  my  story: 
As  I  held  my  fingers  on  his  pulse  and  gazed  steadily  into  his  eyes, 
the  man's  life  seemed  to  stand  before  me  like  an  open  book. 

"Speak"  said  he,  "and  tell  me  what  you  read." 

And  under  the  influence  of  some  strange  and  mystic  spell  I 
spoke  the  thoughts  that  came  into  my  mind:  "Your  name  is  Rufus 
Chester,  and  you  are  a  native  of  Liverpool,  England,"  I  said  with- 
out hesitation.  "You  were  an  only  child,  and  had  just  completed 
your  education  when  your  father  died,  leaving  you  a  large  fortune. 
A  great  deal  of  this  money  you  squandered,  and  at  the  age  of 
thirty  you  found  yourself  almost  bankrupt.  About  this  time  you 
lost  your  mother,  to  whom  you  were  devotedly  attached.    You  be- 


Under  BraziUian  Skies  47 

came  deeply  depressed,  and  remained  in  this  condition  until  you 
became  enamoured  of  a  most  beautiful  and  attractive  woman, 
whose  name  was  Isabel  Gray.  She  was  a  coquette,  encouraged 
your  attentions  and  accepted  your  offer  of  marriage.  You  had 
not  told  her  of  your  financial  embarrassment,  and  she  was  under 
the  impression  that  you  were  still  weilthy.  The  night  of  your 
marriage  arrived,  the  guests  had  assembled,  and  three  hours  before 
the  ceremony  was  to  have  taken  place  you  strolled  out  on  the 
lawn  and  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  a  summer  house  overshadowed 
with  vines.  While  sitting  there,  you  overheard  a  conversation  be- 
tween your  fiance  and  the  man  you  had  considered  your  best  friend. 
Unaware  of  your  presence  they  had  stopped  beside  the  summer 
house.  You  heard  the  woman  you  loved  declare  to  the  man  be- 
side her  that  her  heart  was  his,  that  his  extreme  poverty  was  all 
that  had  kept  them  apart.  You  heard  her  say  that  she  mint  have 
money,  and  was  marrying  you  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out 
certain  cherished  plans;  that  all  her  professed  love  for  you  was  the 
most  artful  sham,  simply  a  decoy  set  to  entrap  you.  With  your 
heart  on  fire  with  rage  and  jealousy  you  sprang  from  your  retreat, 
and  flung  in  the  teeth  of  the  woman  every  scathing  anathema  that 
your  lips  could  frame.  You  saw  her  fall  in  a  death-like  swoon; 
then  with  your  heavy  cane  you  dealt  your  rival,  who  was  bending 
over  the  woman,  a  savage  blow  at  the  base  of  the  brain,  which 
killed  him  instantly.  You  saw  what  you  had  done,  and  fled  pre- 
cipitately from  the  scene.  When  your  reason  had  returned  you 
completely  disguised  yourself,  took  an  assumed  name  and  embark- 
ed on  a  sailing  vessel  for  America.  You  finally  drifted  to  this 
spot.  Grief  and  remorse  have  preyed  upon  you  until  your  health 
has  become  completely  shattered.  These  nightly  walks  through 
all  weathers  are  simply  a  self-inflicted  penance  for  an  unpunished 
crime." 

For  a  few  moments  silence  fell,  then  my  patient  most  emphat- 
ically declared  that  every  word  I  had  spoken  was  absolute  truth. 

Now  whether  this  story  was  only  the  freak  of  a  vivid  and  ex- 
cited imagination  accepted  and  believed  in  by  a  mad  man,  or 
whether  it  was  a  remarkable  instance  of  thought  trans  ferrence  I 
am  to  this  day  unable  to  decide. 

For  three  successive  months  I  gave  this  man  hypnotic  treat- 
ment tri-weekly.  During  these  periods  of  hypnosis  I  made  to  him 
such  powerful  suggestions  of  health,  both  of  body  and  mind,  that 
the  impression  became  indelible  and  accomplished  a  complete  cure. 
Yes,  I  repeat,  it  was  simply  the  belief  of  cure,  implanted  by  me  in 
his  sub-conscious  mind,  during  hypnosis,  that  accomplished  a  cure. 

This  is  only  one  case  out  of  many  of  somewhat  similar  charac- 
ter which  have  come  under  my  observation  during  the  past  two 
years,  and  which  I  have  treated  successfully  on  the  principles  of 
"the  new  psychology." 


48 


Under  Brazillian  Skies 


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Under  Brazillian  Sides  49 


SfarealjabouwiL 


The  hall  clock  struck  ten.  I  stirred  the  fire  in  the  grate  to  a 
brighter  glow,  and  drew  my  chair  closer  to  the  welcome  warmth. 
It  was  mid  December.  The  bare  branches  of  the  trees  creaked  and 
groaned  as  the  wintry  blasts  swept  through  them.  How  pleasant 
the  brightness  of  the  room,  the  warmth  of  the  fire,  on  a  night 
like  this. 

I  sat  for  a  long  time  listening  to  the  wind,  and  thinking  of  all 
the  happy  days  I  had  spent  with  Jack  Hardy,  my  girlhood  friend 
and  confidante.  To  think  that  dear  old  Jack,  my  chum  and  play- 
fellow, should  write  me  an  ardent  love  letter,  offering  me  his  heart 
and  hand!  I  drew  the  letter  from  my  bosom  and  read  it  again, 
and  again  fell  to  dreaming.  Jack  was  now  a  rising  young  lawyer, 
handsome  and  talented,  with  every  prospect  of  a  brilliant  career. 
Any  woman  might  be  proud  to  win  him.  And  I?  Did  I  love  Jack 
Hardy?  As  I  asked  myself  this  question,  another  face,  strong  and 
impressive,  would  look  at  me,  and  Jack's  would  fade. 

I  had  met  Dr.  Bernard  just  three  months  previously  in  Phila- 
delphia. He  was  in  some  respects  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
men  I  ever  knew;  cool,  calm,  dignified,  with  a  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  a  mastery  of  science  that  compelled  my  admiration. 
His  talents  had  already  won  recognition,  and  he  was  heir  to  an  im- 
mense fortune.  This  man  also  had  offered  me  his  heart  and  hand. 
A  splendid  catch,  the  world  would  say.     What  did  my  heart  say? 

"What  is  love,  spiritual  love?"  mused  I!  "Is  it  not,  after  all, 
only  a  poet's  dream?" 

Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  save  the  sighing  of  the  wind. 
I  grew  drowsy,  and  leaning  my  head  back  on  the  velvet  cushion  of 
the  chair  in  which  I  reclined,  I  soon  fell  into  a  deep  sleep  and 
dreamed: 

I  saw  a  river  whose  water  was  clear  as  crystal,  flowing  through 
a  country  landscape  restful  and  beautiful.  It  wound  like  a  narrow 
ribbon  for  miles  and  miles  over  a  bottom  of  pure  white  sand.  Long 
stretches  of  level  land,  covered  with  green  grass,  flowering  plants 
and  shade  trees,  extended  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Not  a 
house  was  in  sight.  It  was  night— a  most  beautiful  night— with 
a  full  moon  and  numberless  stars.     I  was  in  a  small  row-boat  with 


50  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

three  men,  on  the  bosom  of  this  river,  drifting  slowly  with  the 
tide.  We  had  neither  hooks  nor  lines,  but  we  were  fishing.  We 
simply  leaned  over  the  sides  of  the  boat  and  dipped  up  the  fish,  all 
glittering  like  silver,  with  our  hands.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  still- 
ness, until  I  turned  to  one  of  the  men  in  the  boat  and  addressed 
him  thus: 

'  'Come,  go  with  me  to  yonder  bridge,  and  examine  those  fish 
that  shine  so;  there  is  something  peculiar  about  them." 

He  smiled,  bowed  his  head  in  assent,  took  my  hand,  and  we 
stepped  out  of  the  boat  and  walked  on  the  bottom  of  the  river  in 
the  direction  of  a  low  stone  bridge,  which  spanned  the  stream  in 
the  shape  of  an  arch,  a  long  distance  ahead  of  us. 

The  boat  and  its  occupants  disappeared  from  sight,  and  we 
two  walked  down  the  river  alone.  We  were  dressed  in  long  trail- 
ing white  robes,  and  I  could  see  our  bare  feet  gleaming  white  a- 
gainst  the  pure  sand  on  the  river's  bottom.  When  we  reached  the 
bridge  we  stopped  and  faced  each  other,  each  leaning  an  elbow  on 
the  stone  arch.  I  looked  in  my  companion's  face— a  most 
beautiful  face— with  eyes  dark  and  deep,  from  which  his  very  soul 
looked  forth. 

All  at  once  I  heard  a  voice,  as  clear  as  a  silver  bell,  singing  an 
exquisite  melody.  I  looked  at  my  companion.  The  voice  was  not  his. 
I  felt  mystified.  I  looked  up  and  down  the  river,  and  observed  that 
innumerable  fish,  all  the  color  of  silver— fish  by  the  hundreds  and 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands — were  swimming  from  all  direc- 
tions, and  gathering  in  a  glittering  shoal  at  our  feet.  We  seemed 
to  be  drawing  them  by  some  magnetic  power. 

The  voice  sang  on  divinely.  Suddenly  glancing  down  at  my 
feet  I  saw  a  big  fish,  and  he  was  singing— yes  singing  the  beauti- 
ful strains  to  which  I  was  listening.  No  sooner  had  I  made  this 
discovery  than  I  looked  into  the  face  of  my  companion.  He  smiled 
and  bowed  his  head,  but  spoke  not  a  word.  Audible  speech  seem- 
ed entirely  unnecessary  between  us.  I  had  but  to  look  into  those 
dark  eyes  to  read  the  thoughts  that  were  back  of  them. 

Then,  all  at  once,  every  fish  in  the  river  took  up  the  strain. 
And  such  music!  Soprano,  alto,  tenor,  bass, —a  choir  of  ten  thou- 
sand voices.  '  And  all  these  voices  were  singing  of  love.  Suddenly 
it  flashed  upon  me  that  in  reality  these  were  not  fish,  but  men  in 
the  guise  of  fish.  I  saw  that  my  companion  had  made  the  same 
discovery.  Then  one,  by  one,  I  recognized,  in  the  shining  fish  at 
my  feet,  many  familiar  faces  of  friends.  As  I  recognized  each 
separate  identity  I  glanced  into  those  dark  eyes  bending  over 
me,  and  saw  there  the  same  recognition.  The  wonder,  the  amaz- 
ing realization  of  the  whole  situation  was  so  overwhelming  that  I 
suddenly  awoke.  And  as  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  distinctly  heard  a 
voice  say  slowly  and  impressively:  "Follow  me,  and  I  will  make 
you  fishers  of  men." 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  51 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Green,  my  next  door  neighbor  and  in- 
timate friend,  called  to  inquire  about  my  health.  I  had  been  con- 
fined to  the  house  with  a  severe  cold  for  more  than  a  week.  Mrs. 
Green  was  a  religious  fanatic.  She  had  not  been  in  my  room  ten 
minutes  when  she  branched  from  the  subject  of  my  health  to  one 
of  more  absorbing  interest  to  her. 

"Florence,  my  dear,  howl  did  wish  for  you  at  church  last 
night.  We  had  a  beautiful  sermon.  I  thought  all  the  time  how 
you  would  have  enjoyed  it." 

"Indeed?  What  was  the  text?" 

"  'Follow  me  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men.'  I  declare  it 
is  too  bad  for  you  to  be  ill  just  at  this  time!  Philip  Melville  leaves 
tomorrow,  and  you  have  not  seen  him. " 

"Philip  Melville?    Who  is  he?" 

"He  is  the  young  minister  who  filled  Mr.  Crosby's  pulpit  Sun- 
day morning  and  evening,  and  the  whole  town  was  electrified  by 
his  marvelous  sermons.  I  never  heard  anything  in  my  life  to  equal 
them.     The  man  seems  inspired." 

"Sorry  I  could  not  hear  him.     What  is  he  like?" 

"lie  is  tall,  and  splendidly  built;  a  most  imposing  figure,  and 
a  face  of  wonderful  beauty.  And  he  possesses  such  marvelous  per- 
sonal magnetism.  He  thrilled  his  entire  audience.  The  church 
was  literally  packed  last  night,  and  during  his  flights  of  impacsion- 
ed  oratory  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  That  vast  congrega- 
tion simply  held  its  breath  to  listen.  You  don't  know  what  you 
have  missed.  He  is  from  Virginia,  and  since  his  ordination,  five 
years  ago,  he  has  been  rising  rapidly  into  prominence.  I  have 
heard  of  him  before,  but  was  entirely  unprepared  for  the  wonder- 
ful sermon  of  last  night." 

"And  he  preached  from  the  text,  'Follow  me,  and  I  will  make 
you  fishers  of  men?'    What  a  singular  coincidence!" 

I  told  my  friend  of  the  strange  dream  I  had  the  night  before, 
and  that  I  had  distinctly  heard  a  voice  repeat  those  very  words: 
"Follow  me,   and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men." 

The  following  June  I  visited  an  old  school  friend  living  in  a 
mountain  village  of  Virginia.  Can  I  ever  forget  that  summer? 
Gertrude  and  I  often  took  long  horseback  rides  over  the  mountains. 
One  delightful  Sunday  afternoon,  when  we  had  ridden  for  many 
miles  we  came  to  a  little  country  church  beautifully  situated  in  a 
grove  of  elms,  pines  and  maples.  Hearing  the  notes  of  an  organ, 
we  decided,  as  we  had  nothing  better  to  do,  that  we  would  go  in, 
and  attend  service. 

As  we  entered  the  little  church  the  congregation  knelt  in 
prayer.  We  knelt  also.  Then  I  heard  a  voice,  so  musical,  so  deep, 
so  full  of  impassioned  feeling,  that  I  felt  strangely  moved.  I  can 
never  forget  that  prayer.  The  words  burned  into  my  memory. 
The  speaker  seemed  talking  face  to  face  with  God.     When  I  arose 


52  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

from  my  knees  my  eyes  were  dim  with  tears.  After  the  mist 
cleared  away,  I  looked  at  the  figure  in  the  pulpit.  My  heart  stop- 
ped beating;  my  brain  grew  dizzy— I  saw  before  me  the  face— the 
never  to  be  forgotton  face— I  had  seen  in  my  dream.  I  knew  noth- 
ing, I  saw  nothing  but  that  face  for  the  next  few  moments;  then 
I  heard  the  same  beautiful  voice  repeat  the  text:  "My  soul  is  ex- 
ceeding sorrowful,  even  unto  death:  tarry  ye  here,  and  watch  with 
me." 

It  was  not  long  before  I  forgot  everything  else,  and  became 
absorbed  in  the  sermon.  As  the  speaker  portrayed  that  scene  in 
the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  the  soul  agony  of  the  Christ— agony 
more  awful  than  the  death  on  Calvary— I  trembled  from  head  to 
foot,  and  cold  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  my  forehead. 

"And  there  appeared  an  angel  unto  him  from  heaven,  strength- 
ening him." 

The  voice  spoke  on.  I  could  see  the  garden,  the  kneeling  figure 
of  the  Christ,  the  sleeping  disciples,  the  white-robed  angel.  I 
could  hear  the  moaning,  sobbing  wind.  I  could  feel  the  drops  of 
blood  as  they  fell  from  that  breaking  heart.  Then  I  saw  the  angel 
fold  around  the  prostrate  figure  its  white  wings,  whispering  words 
of  comfort  and  of  love. 

Not  once  did  I  take  my  eyes  from  the  speaker's  face.  When 
the  last  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  congregation  dismissed,  I  walked 
from  that  church  feeling  like  one  in  a  dream. 

As  we  reached  the  open  air  Gertrude  looked  at  me  strangely. 
"Florence"  she  said,  "you  look  as  if  you  were  under  the  influence 
of  an  overdose  of  hashish.    Wake  up!    Are  you  hypnotised?" 

"Gertrude,  who  is  that  man?" 

"Hush!    Here  he  comes  to  speak  to  us." 

So  I  met  Philip  Melville.  I  felt  so  dazed  and  bewildered  that 
I  can  recall  but  little  of  what  he  said  that  day.  But  afterwards  I 
came  to  know  him  well.  He  was  a  frequent  guest  at  the  home 
of  my  friend. 

One  day,  when  we  were  sitting  alone  in  the  summer  house  on 
the  lawn,  I  asked  Philip  Melville  if  he  believed  in  dreams. 

1  'I  often  think  that  some  of  our  dreams  are  more  real  than  what 
we  call  reality;  at  most,  they  are  certainly  significant.  My  idea  is, 
that  these  significant  dreams  are  telepathic  impressions  received  by 
the  subconscious  mind  while  the  conscious  mind  is  wrapt  in  oblivion. " 

"Do  you  believe  in  telepathy?" 

"Yes,  and  in  dreams.  One  night  I  had  a  strange,  allegorical 
dream,  like  those  visions  of  old  Bible  times.  It  was  before  I  ever 
met  you.  That  night  you  preached  in  my  native  city  from  the 
text:  'Follow  me,  and  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men'  In  my 
dream  I  distinctly  heard  those  very  words.  Let  me  tell  you  the 
dream. ' ' 

Philip  Melville  listened  with  intense  interest  as  I  related  my 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  58 

dream  of  the  fish.  When  I  had  finished,  there  was  a  strange  look 
on  his  face,  and  he  seemed  wrapt  in  deep  thought.  Presently  he 
said,  "Miss  Sutherland,  that  dream  has  a  meaning,  and  my  belief 
is,  that  some  day  it  will  be  made  clear  to  you. 

'There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
Than  are  dreamed  of  in  our  philosophy.''  " 

"Give  me  your  interpretation  of  the  dream."  said  I. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  not  skilled  in  that  line,"  he  replied.  "But 
let  me  have  time  to  think  it  over.  Perhaps  the  interpretation  will 
flash  upon  me  by  inspiration  some  day.  Who  knows?  However, 
there  is  one  thing  I  predict:  that  some  day  you  will  meet  the  man 
whose  face  you  saw  in  your  dream,  and  that  he  will  prove  to  be 
your  affinity." 

I  felt  the  color  leap  to  my  cheeks,  and  imagined  that  those 
dark,  penetrating  eyes  were  looking  into  my  very  soul. 

"That  dream  might  be  explained  by  telepathy,  Miss  Suther- 
land, he  continued,  "one  of  those  strange  instances  of  thought 
transference  that  we  hear  so  much  about  these  days.  Yet  some- 
how, I  think  there  is  a  deeper  meaning  in  it." 

"What  meaning?" 

"Wait. 

"  'God's  plans,  like  lilies,  pure  and  white  unfold; 
We  must  not  tear  the  close-shut  leaves  apart; 
Time  will  reveal  the  calyxes  of  gold.'  " 

One  day,  as  we  stood  on  the  bank  of  a  beautiful  mountain 
stream  at  sunset,  Philip  Melville's  face  had  an  expression  of  such 
exquisite  beauty  that  it  held  my  gaze  spellbound.  He  had  not 
spoken  to  me  of  love,  yet  I  knew  that  day  that  he  loved  me. 

"Do  you  know  Mr.  Melville,  that  sometimes  I  believe  in  rein- 
carnation. It  would  explain  many  things  otherwise  inexplicable. 
I  believe  that  I  have  known  you  in  some  former  existence,  ages 
and  ages  ago." 

He  smiled— the  same  beautiful  smile  I  had  seen  in  my  dream. 

"I  have  precisely  the  same  feeling  about  you,  he  said,  "yet 
I  do  not  believe  in  reincarnation.  Do  not  attempt  to  solve  this 
mystery,  Miss  Sutherland.  'The  most  potent  influence  is  the  un- 
analyzed.'  " 

He  had  removed  his  hat,  and  stood  watching  the  sunset  clouds. 

Presently  he  turned  abruptly  and  met  my  gaze. 

"Tell  me,  what  were  you  thinking  of  just  then?'' 

'  'I  was  only  wondering  why  I  first  saw  your  face  in  a  dream. 
You  look  to-day  precisely  as  you  did  that  night." 

I  had  expected  him  to  look  surprised.  I  was  mistaken.  But 
his  whole  face  was  illumined  by  an  expression  I  can  never  forget. 
Suddenly  he  smiled  and  looked  deeply  into  my  eyes 

"Mystery  of  mysteries,  now  past  finding  out!  But  some  day 
the  scales  will  drop  from  your  eyes,  and  a  great  flood  of  light  will 


54  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

be  poured  in  upon  your  mental  vision.  Then  you  will  understand. 
Until  then,  wait,  and  do  not  question." 

And  so  we  parted. 

I  did  not  see  Philip  Melville  again  for  many  weeks.  He  was 
called  suddenly  away  the  next  day  by  the  illness  of  a  distant  rela- 
tive, and  I  returned  home  during-  his  absence. 

Weeks  passed,  and  I  looked  in  vain  for  a  letter  from  him.  At 
last  it  came.  I  broke  the  seal,  with  beating  heart,  and  read  what 
to  me  seemed  the  sweetest  letter  a  man  ever  wrote  to  a  woman : 

"My  dear  Miss  Sutherland:— You  have  doubtless  seen  through 
the  papers  that  I  have  pitched  my  tent  on  a  new  camping  ground. 

I  am  pleased  with  M ,  but  I  regretted  exceedingly  to  leave 

my  friends  in  the  dear  old  mountain  valley,  where  I  spent  four  of 
the  happiest  and  best  years  of  my  life.  I  loved  my  people  there, 
and  it  was  my  earnest  desire  to  be  a  blessing  to  them;  to  lift  them 
to  higher  conceptions  of  life  and  the  kingdom  of  Christ;  to  broaden 
the  horizon  of  their  spiritual  vision,  and  to  enlarge  the  circle  of 
their  sympathies. 

"Now  other  voices  are  calling  me,  and  other  fields  are  white 
unto  harvest. 

"There  are  multitudes  of  breaking  hearts  and  dying  souls 
around  us,  and  I  must  go  among  the  suffering  thousands,  and  be 
about  my  Master  s  work.  'The  harvest  truly  is  plenteous,  but  the 
laborers  are  few. ' 

"And  you — come  go  with  me  (as  you  did  in  your  dream)  down 
the  river  of  life  to  the  bridge  of  death.  Be  my  wife.  I  love  you, 
even  as  Jacob  loved  Rachel.  I  long  continually  for  your  presence, 
your  dear  companionship.  We  were  made  for  eachother.  God 
himself  has  planned  our  union.  It  is  to  be.  He  sent  you  that  beau- 
tiful dream.  He  sent  you  me.  Other  men  will  drift  from  you, 
even  as  did  those  in  the  boat,  (do  you  remember?)  and  you  will 
take  my  hand,  and  we  shall  be, 

"  'Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 
Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one. ' 

"And  as  we  journey  hand  in  hand,  doing  the  work  that  God 
intends,  the  hearts  of  men  will  be  drawn  unto  us  and  unto  Him. 
And  when  at  last  he  calls  us  home,  'we  shall  go  rejoicing,  bring- 
ing in  the  sheaves.'  This  is  my  interpretation  of  your  dream. 
The  promise  is  given,  and  He  will  fulfill:  'Follow  me,  and  I  will 
make  you  fishers  of  men.'  Your  lips  have  not  spoken  the  words, 
but  I  feel  that  you  love  me,  even  as  I  love  you.  God  is  calling  you, 
and  I  am  calling  you.  Will  you  come? 
"Yours  now  and  always, 

"Philip  Melville." 


Under  Brazillian  Skies 


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56  Under  Brazillian  Skies 


uJlj?  (§lh  Irtrk  irntap. 


On  the  banks  of  the  Pasquotank  River,  about  three  miles  from 
Elizabeth  City,  stands  a  dipladiated  structure  known  in  this  locality 
as  the  "old  brick  house."'  As  one  approaches  this  picturesque  old 
building  by  a  road  half  a  mile  long,  branching  from  the  main  high- 
way leading  to  the  great  Dismal  Swamp,  the  desolation,  the  air  of 
mystery  surrounding  it,  is  forcibly  impressive.  It  stands  just  at  the 
bend  of  the  river;  the  location  commands  an  extensive  view  up  and 
down  the  picturesque  Pasquotank,  the  approach  of  a  vessel  from 
either  direction  being  plainly  visible. 

Every  portion  of  the  architecture  of  "the  old  brick  house" 
bears  the  unmistakable  stamp  of  antiquity.  The  walls  are  several 
feet  thick;  reminding  one  of  the  old  English  castles  of  feudal  days. 
The  basement  and  gable  ends  of  the  house  are  built  entirely  of 
large  and  heavy  brick.  The  front  and  back  portions  are  partly  of 
wood. 

A  broad  central  hall  runs  the  entire  length  of  the  house,  from 
which  an  old-fashioned  staircase  leads  to  the  upper  floor.  The 
walls  of  the  large  front  room  to  the  right  are  finished  in  beautifully 
carved  panelling  reaching  from  floor  to  ceiling.  This  room  has  a 
brick  chimney,  with  fireplace  surmounted  by  a  mantlepiece  of 
elaborately  carved  wood. 

On  the  left  side  of  this  mantlepiece  is  a  china  closet,  with  a 
sliding  panel  opening  into  a  secret  closet  some  six  feet  square.  By 
touching  a  spring  ingeniously  concealed  in  the  carving  of  the  ad- 
joining room,  a  trap  door  springs  open,  admitting  to  the  hidden 
apartment.  At  the  right  of  the  fireplace  is  a  good-sized  butler's  pan- 
try, that  originally  had  steps  leading  into  the  basement, 
which  was  also  reached  by  another  flight  of  steps  in  the  hall.  In 
former  times  a  subterranean  passage  led  from  the  celler  of  "the 
old  brick  house"  to  the  Pasquotank  River,  some  hundred  yards 
away.    Traces  of  this  passage  may  still  be  seen. 

There  is  a  tradition,  which  seems  to  be  well  founded,  that  this 
dwelling  was  once  the  headquarters  of  the  notorious  pirate,  Edward 
Teach,  popularly  known  as  Blackbeard,  and  that  he  conveyed  the 
stolen  treasure  from  his  ships  through  this  underground  nassage. 
Certain  it  is  that  the  initials  "E.  R.  T."  and  the  date  "1709"  are 
cut  on  the  stone  at  the  steps;  also,  that  the  situation  and  structure 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  57 

of  the  house  made  it  admirably  suitable  for  a  piratical  retreat. 
There  could  scarcely  have  been  found  a  safer  repository  for  stolen 
treasure  than  the  secret  closet  already  described.  This  compart- 
ment was  accidentally  discovered  by  a  Federal  soldier  during  the 
civil  war.  When  this  astonished  Northerner  gazed  into  the  dark 
recess,  all  that  he  saw  was  an  old  and  faded  pair  of  pink  silk  slippers. 
None  of  Blackbeard's  gold  was  anywhere  in  evidence. 

Edward  Teach,  the  most  notorious  pirate  who  ever  sailed 
American  waters,  delighted  in  the  picturesque.  When  about  to 
engage  in  some  horrible  crime  of  sea  robbery  and  murder,  he  would 
plait  his  hair  and  his  long,  black  beard,  which  descended  below  his 
waist,  and  decorate  them  with  blazing  tapers,  according  to  the 
legends.  He  would  burn  sulphur  and  brimstone  in  the  hold  of  his 
ship,  and  chew  glass  until  the  blood  trickled  from  his  lips.  Then 
he  would  go  on  deck  and  engage  in  a  sort  of  devil's  dance,  until 
his  followers  were  terrorized  into  implicit  obedience  to  his  com- 
mands. With  a  fleet  of  six  vessels  thoroughly  manned  by  a  horde 
of  desperadoes  and  cut-throats,  he  kept  the  whole  coast  in  a  state  of 
constant  terror. 

When  a  luckless  craft  chanced  to  encounter  one  of  Blackbeard 's 
fleet,  woe  to  passengers  and  crew.  They  were  either  made  to 
"walk  the  plank"  or  were  murdered  in  cold  blood.  Those  bold 
buccaneers  not  only  plundered  all  ships  which  contained  valuable 
booty,  but  often  went  ashore,  and,  armed  to  the  teeth,  marched 
through  cities  and  towns,  leaving  death  and  destruction  in  their 
path.  It  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  them  to  enter  a  man's  dwell- 
ing, kill  all  the  inmates,  and  possess  themselves  of  everything  of 
value  the  house  contained. 

Blackbeard  is  reputed  to  have  had  seventeen  wives,  and  it  is  be- 
lieved that  many,  if  not  all,  of  these  women  were  victims  of  this 
insatiable  murderer.  There  is  a  story  that  one  m  >rning,  as  Black- 
beard's  ship  "The  Queen  Ann's  Revenge,"  sailed  into  Charleston 
harbor,  the  pirate  captured  several  vessels,  taking  a  number  of 
prisoners.  Shortly  after  this  the  piratical  crew  fell  sick  and  were 
sorely  in  need  of  medicine.  Blackbeard  wrote  a  letter  to  the  gov- 
ernor of  South  Carolina,  demanding  that  a  chest  of  medicine  be 
immediately  sent  to  him,  and  stating  that  if  his  wishes  were  not 
complied  with  at  once  he  would  decapitate  all  his  prisoners.  The 
medicine  chest  was  immediately  in  evidence,  the  governor  not  dar- 
ing to  refuse  the  pirate's  demand. 

A  price  was  set  upon  the  head  of  Blackbeard,  but  in  many  a 
bold  and  bloody  encounter  he  came  off  victor.  At  last  Lieut.  May- 
nard  of  the  British  navy  determined  to  capture  him  or  perish  in  the 
attempt.  Thoroughly  equipped  for  fight,  Maynard  encountered 
Blackbeard  near  Ocracoke  Inlet.  As  the  naval  ship  approached 
"The  Queen  Ann's  Revenge"  it  ran  aground,  and  for  a  time  all 
seemed  lost.    The  pirates  at  once  opened  a  volley  upon  their  enemy, 


58.  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

and  several  of  Maynard's  men  were  killed.  At  last  the  brave  lieu- 
tenant hit  upon  a  clever  stratagem  to  capture  the  pirate.  He  order- 
ed his  men  to  retire  with  him  to  the  hold  of  the  ship,  leaving  only 
the  dead  and  dying  on  deck.  The  pirates,  supposing  that  their 
enemies  were  in  their  power,  boldly  sprang  aboard  the  unlucky 
ship.  Quickly  from  his  retreat  rushed  Maynard  with  twenty  brave 
followers  thoroughly  armed.  A  bloody  conflict  ensued,  in  which 
Maynard  met  Blackbeard  in  a  hand-to-hand  encounter,  and  ran  his 
sword  through  the  pirate's  body,  inflicting  a  mortal  wound.  See- 
ing their  leader  fall,  the  whole  piratical  crew  became  panic-strick- 
en. Many  of  them  were  captured,  many  were  slain.  Maynard 
cut  on?  the  head  of  Blackbeard,  and  putting  it  in  a  conspicious 
position  on  the  bow  sprit  of  his  ship,  sailed  in  triumph  to  Bath. 
There  is  a  tradition  that  after  the  head  of  Blackbeard  was  severed 
from  his  body,  the  headless  trunk  swam  three  times  around  his 
captor's  ship. 

At  many  points  along  the  Pasquotank  River  and  on  Buzzard's 
Island,  a  vast  amount  of  Blackbeard's  gold  i3  supposed  to  be 
buried,  and  a  human  head  is  said  to  be  buried  with  every 
pot  of  gold  as  a  ghostly  protection.  The  superstitious 
natives  of  the  Albemarle  section  believe  that  this  old  pirate  cannot 
rest  quietly  in  his  grave;  that  his  spirit  revisits  his  old  haunts  in 
North  Carolina.  To  this  day  a  mysterious  light  is  sometimes  seen 
on  dark  nights  going  from  point  to  point  at  a  certain  locality  on 
Pasquotank  River,  which  is  known  as  '  Teach's  Light. ' '  Its  origin  is 
unkown,  and  it  is  supposed  to  proceed  from  the  phantom  ship  of 
Blackbeard,  the  pirate. 

Now,  listen  to  a  romantic  legend  connected  with  '  'the  old  brick 
house,"  which  adds  not  a  little  to  its  interest.  The  story  runs  that 
this  house  was  built  centuries  ago  by  an  English  lord,  who  brought 
all  the  material  for  its  construction  from  "the  old  country." 
This  lord  had  a  beautiful  daughter,  who  was  deeply  in  love  with  a 
man  far  below  her  in  station.  The  match  was  bitterly  opposed, 
and,  as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  the  greater  the  opposition  the  brighter 
burned  the  fire  of  love.  At  last,  fearing  a  clandestine  marriage, 
the  old  lord  secretly  conveyed  his  daughter  to  America,  and  forced 
her  to  live  in  the  strictest  seclusion  in  "the  old  brick  house." 
which  was  built  with  a  view  to  this  concealment. 

The  secret  closet  was  for  a  time  the  prison  of  the  beauti- 
ful daughter  of  the  old  lord.  Her  nourishment  was  supplied 
through  the  sliding  panel  in  the  china  closet.  At  last,  the  health 
of  this  imprisoned  beauty  began  to  fail,  consumption  was  stretch- 
ing its  skeleton  hands  toward  her,  and  her  father  reluctantly  al- 
lowed her  a  small  degree  of  freedom.  She  was  allowed  to  mingle 
with  the  young  people  of  the  country  around,  and  the  roses  were 
beginning  to  bloom  again  in  her  cheeks.  During  all  these  months, 
nothing  had  been  seen  or  heard  of  the  disappointed  lover,  and  it 


Under  Brazillian  Skies  59 

was  supposed  that  he  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  finding  his  lost 
love,  and  had  consoled  himself  in  the  usual   way. 

Time  passed,  and  the  young  man  was  forgotten  by  all  save  the 
girl,  in  whose  heart  still  lived  the  sad  but  beautiful  memory  of  her 
love.  At  last  one  night  a  grand  ball  was  given  at  '  'the  old  ,  brick 
house,  "and  fair  women  and  brave  men  "danced  away  the  hours 
with  flying  feet.''  Music,  mirth  and  revelry  reigned  supreme. 
The  clock  struck  twelve,  the  gayety  was  at  his  height,  when 
suddenly  the  ballroom  door  was  flung  violently  open,  and  on  the 
threshold  appeared  a  ghastly  spectacle.  There  stood  the  old  lord, 
a  bloody  sword  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  grasping  by  the  belt  the 
lifeless,  blood  stained  form  of  his  daughter's  lover,  who  had  come 
an  uninvited  guest  to  the  ball. 

A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  the  assembled  company;  women 
fainted  and  men  turned  pale.  With  a  bold  stride  and  a  look  of  in- 
sane rage  upon  his  face,  the  murderer  dragged  his  victim  through 
the  crowded  room  and  threw  him,  with  a  curse,  at  his  daughter's 
feet.  A  despairing  cry  rang  through  the  house,  and  a  woman's 
face,  white  with  anguish,  bent  over  the  lifeless  form.  A  moment 
more,  and  the  delicate  white-robed  figure,  with  its  wealth  of  golden 
hair,  swayed  like  a  willow  in  the  blast,  and  fell,  and  lay  motionless 
by  the  side  of  the  dead  man.  Sympathetic  faces  bent  over  her, 
but  the  beautiful  eyes  stared  vacantly  into  space,  the  heart  that 
had  loved  "not  wisely  but  too  well"  had  ceased  to  beat.  These 
two  ill-starred  lovers  are  buried  side  by  side  in  the  shade  of  a 
forest  near  '  'the  old  brick  house. ' '  They  sleep  in  unmarked  graves, 
with  the  silence  and  peace  of  the  forest  about  them,  and  the  song 
of  the  birds  as  a  requiem. 


THE  END. 


60  Under  Brazillian  Skies 

THE  EYRIE  AND  OTHER  SOUTHERN  STORIES 


BY 
BETTIE  FRESHWATER  POOL. 


Decorated  Cloth,  12mo :  Price  $1.00. 

FRONTISPIECE: 

"The  Nag's  Head  Picture  of  Theodosia  Burr." 

"This  book  is  the  author's  first  volume  of  fiction,  and  discovers 
her  as  an  author  of  advanced  rank.  The  dialect  sketches  are  re- 
markably clever,  being  more  truly  'darkey'  than  those  of  Page, 
Harris  and  a  score  of  well-knowns. 

"The  Jiyrie  has  truly  been  pronounced  a  gem.  It  is  a  beauti- 
ful gift  book  for  the  holidays."— Fairfax  Enterprise. 

"This  new  book  of  Southern  stories,  the  first  effort  of  the 
author,  gives  evidence  of  unquestioned  talent,  both  in  story-tell- 
ing and  in  writing  dialect. 

"The  stories  deal  mainly  with  Southern  incidents  'befo'  de 
wah, '  and  the  author's  knowledge  of  the  negro  character  is  perfect. 
In  her  sketch,  'The  Nag's  Head  Picture  of  Theodosia  Burr,' Miss 
Pool  has  given  to  the  students  of  history  a  story  that  will  attract 
interest  and  investigation." — Raleigh  News  and  Observer. 

"The  author  of  The  Eyrie,  Miss  Bettie  Freshwater  Pool  of 
Elizabeth  City,  N.  C,  is  a  women  of  brilliant  parts.  She  wields  a 
facile  and  versatile  pen,  and  rarely  fails  to  charm  her  readers.  She 
has  placed  the  reading  public  under  lasting  obligations  in  giving 
out  this  book  of  short  stories  and  poems.  Her  negro  dialect  is  al- 
most faultless,  and  the  portrayal  of  the  tender  relationship  exist- 
ing between  ante  bellum  slave  and  master  is  indead  touching.  Her 
'Nag's  Head  Picture  of  Theodosia  Burr'  is  of  real  historic  worth. 
Some  of  her  poems — fifteen  in  number— possess  the  artistic  finish 
and  spiritual  touch  of  poetic  genius." — Littleton  Herald. 

'  'This  is  a  book  of  pleasing  sketches  and  poems.  Their  style  is 
clear  and  concise,  and  their  several  themes  decidedly  interesting. 
The  story  which  closes  the  volume,  'The  Monstrosity'  (by  Gaston 
Pool)  is  so  fascinating  that  one  is  fairly  rivited  to  it  after  the  first 
paragraph.  The  story  is  well  told,  and  the  seemingly  marvelous 
occurences  which  give  it  life  are  in  the  end  divested  of  their  mys- 
tery by  the  light  of  science."  — Town  Topics. 

"Some  of  these  stories  are  in  negro  dialect  and  are  remarka- 
bly good  specimens  of  the  language  actually  spoken  by  the  negro. 
They  are  as  far  removed  from  what  generally  passes  in  story-books 
for  dialect  as  light  is  from  darkness." — Magazine  of  Southern 
History. 

Send  all  orders  to  Miss  Bettie  F.  Pool,  Elizabeth  City,  N.  C. 


